


So Many Eggs

by candiedvoltage



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Awkward Steve, Beating, Chefs, Comfort Food, Cooking, Drinking, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Food, Fucking, Kidnapping, Masturbation, My First Fanfic, Non-Canon Relationship, Physical Abuse, Self-Rescuing Princess, Sex, Singing, Slow Build, So much angst, Torture, just making shit up as I go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:10:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 60,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8700496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candiedvoltage/pseuds/candiedvoltage
Summary: There are two types of love in this world that are reflective of stars. Those that start off bright, flare up incredibly hot, and then fizzle as fast as they started. Then there are those types of love that start off slow, nearly a glimmer, just a hope but they burn long and grow strong. This... this was something else entirely. What was happening with her and Steve was something that was going to take an entire lifetime to figure out. It was blinding and would burn in her until she was gone, of this she was sure.





	1. I Had a Thought, Dear

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work and has not been beta'd. All mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Update: So, now as I'm re-reading it AFTER I've posted it, I'm finding places where I want to make changes... so hang in there with me as I continue to edit it and such.

So many eggs.  So, so, so many eggs.  

She’d worked in kitchens on and off her entire life, but this was the first time she was really and truly running her own kitchen as a chef and she couldn’t remember such a small group of people consuming so much food when they were home, of course, which was only about half the time.                                                                                                                                                           

If Mr. Stark threw a party, and let’s face it, Mr. Stark knew how to throw a party, it would mean hours of overtime.  Months of planning were smashed into several days and frantic phone calls were made across the globe pulling in specific foods. 

Sleep eluded her. 

Food, however, was her language. She studied it in every medium available; reading about it, writing about it, watching tv shows and movies about it, making it, testing it, listening to podcasts and radio shows about it, and talking about it with her Sous Chef.  It was how she expressed her soul and it was her go-to when she needed to think life through.  Food was her life.  Was.  Still is.  

Now, right now, at this very moment, her life was consumed by eggs.  Preparing eggs for breakfast that would be consumed within the hour.   

Have you seen an Avenger eat?   

Before, after, hell, sometimes during a mission, any one of the team members could be counted on to demolish a mountain of food. And just such a mountain of fried, scrambled, and hard-boiled eggs were waiting.  

It was only 5am, but Liv was already on her second cup of coffee.  The entire team was home and she knew at least two of them would wander into the private dining room soon enough.  

Bacon was in the oven filling the air with that wonderful homey aroma.  Cereal dispensers were placed out, and milk, in various forms and varieties were chilling in the fridge.  Loaves of bread were in their containers, plainly labeled, near the toasters.  Plates, napkins, silver, bowls… everything in its place.  All that was left was the damn eggs.   

The private dining room was actually two separate dining rooms. The “official” private dining room looked liked it sounded.  Liv found it stuffy and reminiscent of one too many fine dining establishments she’s slogged through on her way to becoming a chef.  She’d thrown her crumb catcher out a cab window after her last shift at a pretentious club that she forgets to tell people she worked in.  Fine dining is fine but not for her.  

The other was a private, intimate room that had a portion of the kitchen exposed to it.  Think of eating in your mom’s kitchen if your mom was a billionairess.  Her sous chef couldn’t believe their luck when they got the offer.  She’d have to admit, having equipment she didn’t have to fix herself was a vast improvement.  How many times was a girl gonna have to grow her eyebrows back?

Not having a budget to worry about, well, she still wasn’t accustomed to that.   

She flicked on the flame of the flat top grill and pulled the cartons of eggs that had been coming up to room temp closer.  Her speed rack of trays and hotel pans awaited their fill.  

“Do you think we’ll ever get used to this?” a soft female voice asked behind her.  She hadn’t heard Georgia walk into the kitchen.  Her question startled her. 

“God, I hope not,” was all Liv could reply once she looked up.  She was watching the sky turn from black to gray.  There was little time to get all this food cooked and ready before the bustle of activity started.  

The timer alerted her to the doneness of the hard-boiled eggs.  Thor would be very happy.  He adored hard-boiled chicken eggs.  Actually, he adored medium-boiled chicken eggs. 7-minute eggs were his absolute favorite.

There were types of fowl on Asgard, but Midgardian chicken eggs were much tastier, he’d informed her.  She didn’t reply because, well, she was stunned into silence and had been at the job for 53 minutes when she met him.   At that particular moment, her mind had been on the menu for the day and her heart was as black as the night and having full-blown conversations with Avengers hadn’t crossed her mind.  

How does one prepare for that? 

During her time working for Stark, her eyes, however, saw everything.

She made meticulous notes of what everyone ate as they passed through.  Eggs seemed to be the one thing put on every plate.  It almost made her stomach turn.  Of course, the thing that she was allergic to was the one thing she’d be preparing a metric shit ton of every damn day.  

At least she didn’t have to eat it.  Fried eggs, boiled eggs, or scrambled eggs, it didn’t matter because she’d be completely incapacitated Exorcist-style if she ate any of them.  She’d done some research but a food allergy was all she could figure out.  As long as she could have cake, she’d be fine and she could so she was fine. 

She avoided eating the eggs.  Preparation of the eggs wasn’t something she could get out of but not eating them was easy enough, even if the smell was not her favorite.  Most chefs get a massive hard-on for eggs too.  The one dish she would sacrifice an evening of discomfort for was, without question, pasta carbonara.  Talk about some cheesy, peppery, porky, goodness.  It was her ultimate guilty pleasure, especially since the following hours might not be so, um, shall we say, fun.    

Georgia took over peeling the hard boiled eggs.  Liv was relieved and went on to scrambling some with cheese, channeling a short-order cook. 

That was Captain Roger’s favorite.  

“Better than powdered eggs, that’s for sure,”  was Cap’s first sentence to her.   She’d remember his comment until she died.  She took the compliment knowing full well that ANY eggs were better than Army rationed powdered eggs. 

“My chef’s from school will be glad to hear that,” she dead-panned.  It was only 6 am and her dry sense of humor got the best of her.  

She briefly thought to tell him the history of chef toques and their relationship with eggs but she found Steve walking briskly away instead.   

It had been several months since then and he would only give her his professional half smile when he saw her after that.  Liv hadn’t taken any great measure to be overly friendly to the superhero either.  There was nothing between them besides employee and lunch lady except for some ice that neither were wanting to break.  

The flat top grill was in the vast island that overlooked the dining area and then, the expanse of Earth outside.  Every morning the team was home, she had the best view.  Come to think of it, every living quarter in the building had amazing views.  

The best view with a dream kitchen staff and great equipment, employed by someone who respected her and her craft.  What happens when all of your professional dreams come true?

Your personal life goes in the shitter, of course.  

 

———————————————— 

“Why?” She screamed into the phone.  It was the third time in 3 minutes she’d asked the person on the other end.  She couldn’t believe he was ending it all.  The longest relationship of her life, spanning almost her entire twenties, over in the briefest of phone calls.  

A fucking phone call.   

Sure Liv had been working long hours at the cafe. Sure she’d missed important dates, but she was doing what she loved, what HE told her to pursue. Now, the only man she’d really loved had just ended their engagement and their entire relationship.  Ended it all.  

She walked out of the closet that posed as an office and looked at Georgia blankly.

“That fucker,” she spat matter-of-factly.  

Georgia understood immediately.  One of the great things about working with someone for 5 years in a kitchen was that they knew you like no one else.  

“I’m sorry, chef,” was all Georgia said and went back to dicing tomatoes.  “Beer later?”   

“Tequila,” was Liv’s reply.  That night’s service was as flawless as they came.  That was the last night she drank tequila.  That night was the night she locked her heart away for good.  

That night was years ago.

 

——————————————

 

Her attention was now on the cheese eggs.  That memory was not her favorite and she wished it would stop showing up at inopportune times in her brain.  

Georgia finished peeling the boiled eggs and was manning the other half of the flat top in case Drs. Banner or Foster wanted fried eggs, which they probably would.    

For two chefs classically French-trained, they didn’t mind pretending to work at a diner.  Well, that wasn’t entirely true.  Lots of chef’s sleep in late, work until midnight, and go off to play when everyone else was asleep.  Being fully awake AND making delicious food before sun up had not been their normal routine.  Liv guessed it was their new normal as soon as she signed her employment papers with Stark Industries.  

She finished pushing the last pieces into a chaffing dish so Captain Rogers wouldn’t be forced into a conversation with her and took her tools back to the dish pit.  Her dishwasher was listening to something way too upbeat in his earbuds for that time of day but she didn’t care. He could turn around a disastrous wash area faster and more efficiently than anyone else she’d worked with, so when Mr. Stark’s offer came, she fought to bring Bent along with her.  

“Hey Chef, I have a date tonight!” he practically screamed over the noise of the dish machine and his music.   

“Will you be in tomorrow?” She asked, eyebrows forming a questioning arch.   

“Of course!  I may not get any sleep but you know me.  Give me enough coffee and I can rule the world,” he exclaimed, fist in the air. 

“How about you just rule this dish pit for now.  What’s his name?”

“George,” Bentley smiled, his grin increasing unusually wider.

“You and George have fun. I’m heading back in,” she motioned as she backed away.  She turned to walk back into the dining area. Instead, she ran head-first into a wall.  She took a step back because she really didn’t remember a wall being there and she felt her solidly planted foot start to slip on the damp kitchen floor.     

Bentley’s sudden laugh rang in slow motion throughout the kitchen as she stared back at him, trying not to fall over.  Only then did she see the arms attempting to steady her. 

Liv looked into Steve’s eyes and grabbed for his hand.

“Whoa, I’m so sorry.  I thought you heard me call your name,” he muttered as he used his considerable strength to keep the chef from falling. Just like that, the straight-faced mask he’d put on around her was yanked off for a moment.  

“No, it’s ok, I couldn’t hear over all the noise.”  She straightened her stance, still holding onto him. 

His bear paw of a hand made her hand look like a child’s.  

“Chef, Captain, careful.  I just mopped the floor right there,” Bentley peered from behind the glass rack he was carrying, a mischievous grin crept over his lips. 

“Yep, I think I figured that out, Mercedes,” she retorted at him over her shoulder.   Steve looked bewildered because, well, it was his second favorite expression these days.

“Only if you’re nice,” Bent’s reply trailed off into the glass room. 

“I thought his name was Bentley,” the Captain stated, confused. 

“Bentleys, Mercedes, you know… crazy expensive cars… if you’re not Stark…cars that go fast and like to purr… it’s our little joke,” her words rushed out. Turning back to Steve, she sized up his reaction.  

“Oh, Ohh, I get it.  Kitchen humor.” He cracked a half smile. 

“The dirtiest kind,” she smiled genuinely at him for the first time. 

Welcome to her world, Captain.  That’s when she saw the true understanding hit him in the brain pan.  

“OH,” was his brief reply as his eyebrows raised, surprised.  He might’ve blushed but she was too short and attempting to not stare at him by this point.  

She released his hand when she was standing on the entry mat.  It may have been her world he was standing in but she felt very small in it at that moment.  

She wasn't small, not by any normal standards, but the world in which the Avengers lived was far from normal. 

Her 5’ 6” palled in comparison to Captain Roger’s 6’ 4” height.   Her black chef coat was as stylish and sleek as they come and while it did nothing to accentuate it, it did nothing to hid the fact that she was a curvy woman.  She wasn’t a waif, like Georgia.  Her metabolism believed her to constantly be in a state of “must save this in case we were to go hungry soon” and her muscles were kitchen muscles.  All in all, she was the most normal person there. 

 He was built like, well, the wall she thought she’d run into.

“Did you need something from me?”  She asked, attempting to not smile awkwardly.

“Oh, no.  I didn’t need anything,”  He replied, scanning her domain.

“I just wanted to say the eggs were really good today.  I like whatever new cheese you’re using,” his words spilled out a bit too fast.  

“I wondered if you would notice.  We used Butterkäse today.  In place of the sharp cheese.  Thought you might like a change up.  It’s a bit sweeter and from around your time,”  she replied.  Doesn’t everyone want to know the history of what they eat? 

“Well, thank you.  I was a nice change.”  Damn. Was he always über polite or had she been working in crude kitchens for a decade too long?  His icy mask wasn’t completely back up but it was threatening to make an appearance. 

“I actually should get back out there.  Y’all aren’t exactly an easy bunch to keep up with,” she muttered slightly slower.   

She slipped past him and hoped she didn’t fall on her way back to the dining area, careful not to touch him.  The other Avengers and various important staff made their appearances throughout the morning hours, some just grabbing coffee before running back out.  Everyone seemed to like Liv and Georgia and even Bentley.  

She wondered what it was about Steve that was different, other than the way she somewhat snapped at him with they’d first met. Maybe she’d never know.  

Captain Rogers didn’t show up in the dining area again until dinner.  She’d kept to her station to finish out the breakfast and then get ready for lunch.  

“Was something wrong with the food this morning?” Georgia asked in the middle of their prep meeting.

“Why?” Liv asked, not looking up from her spreadsheet.

“Because Captain Rogers made a beeline for you as soon as he finished his plate.  I thought something must’ve been wrong,” she explained, a concerned crease forming between her eyebrows. 

“Oh… he just complimented the different cheese in the eggs,” Liv replied offhandedly.  

“Huh. An odd bird, that one,” was all Georgia muttered under her breath. 

“No kidding,” Liv sighed a reply.

“Not entirely rough on the eyes, though.” Georgia almost whispered.  She made eye contact with Liv.

 “You are not lying,” the chef chuckled.  

They hashed out the rest of their day, then glanced over the week, hitting the high notes.  Nothing crazy, just three square meals a day with snacks and supplements and such scattered throughout.  If only it were always like this but she’d take the mostly normal schedule while she could get it.


	2. However Scary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm finally finding my style and Liv's voice. I hope to post more soon, seeing as I'm freshly unemployed.   
> I do work in the foodservice industry and they say to write what you know, so here we go.
> 
> Feel free to leave questions and whatnot at the bottom cause I do appreciate them. 
> 
> Nothing's been beta'd - all mistakes are mine, sadly.

————Chapter 2 However Scary————

She’d decided on cooking comfort foods for dinner the next evening. Most people don’t complain about soul food unless they were on a diet and these folks were definitely not trying to shed poundage. Mostly, the Stark-employed scientists just recommended them getting as much protein and good fats as they could along with a varied supply of fruits and vegetables. Traditional soul food feeds all of the major food groups as well as the soul… says so right there on the tin.

The one exception to the three squares a day was Mr. Rogers. The serum had increased his metabolism so much that he almost constantly needed to eat to have enough energy to be ready to save the world at a moments notice and to recuperate after his thrilling heroics.

She’d been a pastry chef in the first years of her career and in true pastry chef form, she was quite Type A. Nailing the details is most important when working as a chef. You’re the conductor, the engineer. . . the one who makes all of the others little parts mess together to get the whole thing to work.

Over many evenings, she’d read up on all of the documentation over all of the Avenger’s schedules. Most recently she’d studied Captain Roger’s schedule over a six-week block. Everything was there, from how many hours he was boxing, what his exercise routines included, how long of a run he’d take in the mornings, to what types of missions he would be on. Well, she didn’t exactly know what missions he was on, but she had readings similar to that of a heart rate monitor. Dr. Banner had given her the barest information about his nutritional needs based on his blood work. She knew his exertion levels, sleep patterns, and how many calories he needed on different days. Dr. Banner had made notes about his own dietary needs after the green attacks, and they were so very helpful. 

The data was all there. Planning and calculations took the better part of two days, but she had a comprehensive food plan for America’s Captain. It would keep his energy leveled out when he wasn’t on missions yet it would keep him fueled when he had to go at a moment’s notice. Once back, the recuperation plan would move into place on a sliding scale based on the length and conditions of the mission. And hopefully, it would all be delicious. 

Making sure Steve ate according to her plan wasn’t her task. So, she made what she knew he should be eating and had it available for him, sending half to his apartment kitchen and keeping the rest in the common kitchen as she did with everyone should they want to cook for themselves. What she wouldn’t do was harp on him about it. He was a grown man and she didn’t have that kind of time. 

She knew the fried chicken didn’t exactly fit into her plan for him or any of them but she was homesick and was gonna take the whole staff back to her home state of Georgia for dinner. The irony of her home and her sous chef sharing a name had not escaped her. Some things just make sense and they were her comfort blankets.

The kitchen staff lived on campus, two floors down from the dining area and a floor below the actual Avenger quarters. Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts occupied the top several floors. Science labs along with R&D took up the middle of the building and offices occupied the rest. The main dining hall on the lower floors was contracted out to some food conglomerate but that didn’t bother Liv or Georgia much. 

“What if we started curing our own meats?” Liv almost didn’t hear the question.

“Forrrrrr?” She trailed off.

“To eat. For snacks and special dinners and such. For whatever. It’s interesting and tasty and we need to learn how to,” Georgia’s reply help bring Liv back into the present. “Plus, we could put cured meats on the Quinjet in the case of emergencies. It’d keep and be a good source of protein should the team get stuck somewhere.” This was one of the many reasons Georgia was a great sous chef. She didn’t just play the tape to the end, she rewrote the entire story with different scenarios and planned for those too. 

“Yeah, that sounds good. Research it and then let me know what I need to put in a request for,” Liv sighed.

It was true. She didn’t want to lose her edge. The culinary world was competitive and especially tough on a team of women. She didn’t want to get treated differently because she was a woman but she knew she could never slip up; she could never make a mistake in the world of food. 

But tonight, it was fried chicken night and she was gonna blow the doors off the place. As far as she knew, none of the members that would be eating tonight knew much of Southern food. 

***  
“You know, I was just fixing your potential off-spring this morning,” she cooed at the entire featherless chicken laying across her cutting board. Her gloved hands turned over one of the many birds she was breaking down for the dinner, picking it up and swinging it back and forth several times over the sink, gently, loosening the joints to make the task easier. 

Laying the carcass back on her board, she brought her knife down between the leg and the thorax, first splitting the skin and then connective tissues. Her knife, a 10 inch traditional European Chef’s knife, was kept sharp. Not many bones would stand a chance against this blade. 

If she were being honest, she got a slight kick out of the looks on people’s eyes when she honed this guy, flashing silver on the steel, making that wonderful scraping noise that meant she was about to start her form of magic. Liv imagined it looked like something out of a horror movie… tiny hands holding a giant knife and wielding it with aplomb. But that’s where the imaginary turned into reality and she used her knife as an extension of herself. It was her tool of choice and she has the calluses to show for it. 

Placing her blade on the back of the bird she crunched down with a good bit of force when she saw the boots shuffle off to her side. 

She looked over, not moving the rest of her body, right hand still gripping the knife handle that was attached to the blade buried in the chicken’s ribcage, as she stood almost on her toes, using her left hand for additional force on the spine of the knife. 

“That sounded terrible,” he muttered, crossing his arms across his wall-like chest.

“Aren’t you used to hearing bones break?” she asked, not realizing or caring that she sounded, well, how did she sound? Bitter, maybe? 

“Still doesn’t mean it sounds good to me. I haven’t turned into a monster, yet, Liv,” his tone slightly huffed. There was that mask again, all cold and firmly in place. 

Mean. She’d sounded mean and maybe a bit judgmental. The way in which he said her name was so matter-of-fact, she didn’t want to move, for fear of hurting herself in front of him. He’d used his best commander’s tone. 

Reluctantly, she settled her feet, removed her knife, and placed the now separated pieces of chicken onto a sheet tray. 

“I’m sorry,” was all she said to him. It was enough to change the look in his eyes. “What may I do for you, Captain Rogers?” she asked, now a bit too formally. Boy, she needed to get a grip on her responses. She was giving herself whiplash and couldn’t imagine how she seemed to someone who didn’t know her. 

“I don’t need anything right now, Chef,” he replied, matching her tone. It may be true. His path was a connecting one to the common kitchen. He was probably after a snack. She was just working. 

She looked at him then returned to the bird at hand. It was the last one and she concentrated on breaking it down as best and fast as she could. The last thing she needed was to slice off a fingertip with Captain-fucking-America watching. 

“How hot do you like it, Captain?” Liv asked, as seriously as she could muster, some of the formality still in her voice along with something else. Maybe a touch of sultriness. Maybe. 

He blushed slightly and the corner of his mouth threatened to crack his facade. Her work was almost done. 

“How hot do I like what?” he chuffed at her, narrowing his eyes and letting the small wrinkles in the corners show themselves. 

“Your fried chicken… do you like it normal, spicy, or Nashville Hot? Like, peeling the insides of your mouth, tears streaming down your face, time to freeze the toilet paper, hot?” she drawled. Sometimes her Southern accent got the best of her and she’d definitely just slipped right back into it. 

She loved when her brain and mouth worked together. She really could sound like a fucking bad ass when she wanted to, even if she was just talking about poultry. 

“I’m gonna say normal spicy. I’d like my insides to stay where they are,” he replied. He wasn’t playing her game. 

After a few moments of him watching her continue the mass dismemberment of dinner, he asked, “How hot do you like it, Liv?” Maybe he was not so boring after all. 

She had to admit, his question wasn’t expected. And she realized something. She really likes the form his mouth made when he said her name. 

She finished cutting the legs off of the chicken and started separating the thighs from the drums. 

“I like it to have a wee bit of heat in the breading, just enough to open your taste buds to what’s happening. Then, once it’s all fried crispy, I combine hot sauce and honey and drizzle that over the thighs. That piece of crispy skin, with the sweet and the salty and the heat… “, she’d actually stopped working, placing her knife on her board. Again, her fingertips were at play. 

“Well, there’s not much better on this planet, Cap,” raising her left eyebrow and the right corner of her mouth. It wasn’t the first time she’d used his Avenger title but she wasn’t ready to call him Steve just yet. She chuckled lightly, letting her mind wandered back to eating lunch at the little hole in the wall beside her first apartment. She loved Mama H’s cooking there and her fried chicken would’ve been Liv’s final meal of choice. 

That odd feeling of memories mixed with remorse and regret tinged at her but she decided the memory of that flavor was one of pure pleasure. Steve had walked closer to her station but she hadn’t picked up on it. Well, she had but she didn’t want it to mean anything. 

“I can’t wait for dinner tonight then,” He said as he looked down at her work, his eyes briefly stopping on hers. His voice was softer.

Where her eyes were the slate gray of stormy oceans, his were bright blue and more alive than anyone’s she’d met before and at that moment they were dancing over her work. Her heart seemed to have migrated to her ears for the time being. She could’ve sworn he looked a tad lower than her face but what more would he see? The same black chef coat over her t-shirt and it all covered with an apron. It was her armor and it was enough protection. That and ten inches of finely sharpened and honed steel in her hand. 

Offering a bit of a smile - grin combo, the walking wall left, surveying the next room he walked into. She didn’t look away until he was completely gone. 

Liv placed both hands on her cutting board and hung her head for a moment, closing her eyes and breathing deeply through her nose. 

Making quick work out of the rest of the prep, she and Georgia had dinner ready at 6:30pm sharp. 

\-------  
Nervous about making eye contact, Liv decided to concentrate on her job. Serving up fried hot chicken, from scratch macaroni and cheese, squash casserole, biscuits, deviled eggs, cornbread, and a whole mess of collards not to mention keeping up with desserts was enough to keep the entire brigade busy. 

“I love coconut cream pie,” Darcy exclaimed, grabbing two pieces off of the dessert table. It made Liv smile. She was probably the closest friend Liv considered out of any of the Avengers or their sidekicks. 

“Who are you trying to impress, Olive?” Darcy asked half jokingly and yet half seriously. Not many called Liv by her full name. 

“No one, Darce. Just wanting some comfort food. Got a bit homesick this morning,” Liv answered cooly. “And that’s Chef to you,” she joked at Darcy.

“Yes, Chef!” Darcy lightly exclaimed walking to join Jane and Thor at their regular table. 

Thor had crumbs all throughout his beard. 

“Chef! This meal is most delicious. What did you call this? Pudding? It is very satisfying” the god almost shouted even if she was only several feet away. Just please, don’t slam the plate down and break it was all she was thinking at that moment. 

“Yes, that is homemade banana pudding. I used my mother’s recipe, so I’m glad you like it.” 

Her life was weird.

Liv often wondered about seating dynamics in cafeterias and dining rooms. It never failed, humans, and now aliens gods it seemed, left to their own devices, would pick the same seat every time they ate, were it available to them. 

Except for one person. 

Captain Rogers seemed to sit in opposite areas of the dining room at every meal. Mostly, he’d have his back to the wall, watching out the windows. 

He’d come through while she was replenishing one of the hotel pans in the kitchen and for that she was grateful. Yes, he was physically distracting, but when they made eye contact, she would suddenly feel vulnerable. Why? Where did his mask go? What was happening? She didn’t want to know so she went back into the room with several more pies.

Then she saw him and her heart picked up its pace, yet again. Steve was talking to Vision quietly, at a table that looked comically small for the two of them. Gingerly placing the desserts with the others, he looked her way, as if some part of her had called him silently. Lord help her, her thoughts were sounding like a trashy romance novel. 

Liv didn’t break eye contact. He offered a half smile and she turned, just in time to trip, holding the one last piece of pecan pie she was going to wrap up for later. 

The pie and Liv along with it landed with a thud, right on Tony. The pie on his shoulder, the chef, somewhere between his lap and the floor. 

When did she become a one woman slapstick comedy show? Death seemed an easier alternative to picking herself up at the moment. Could a portal open up and swallow her up right at that moment? 

“If you’d wanted me to have pie, you could’ve put it on the table. I know I don’t like being handed things but that’s no reason to throw it at me,” Tony said, staring down at her. 

The room erupted into fits of giggles and outright laughter and some applause as the chef closed her eyes and got back on her feet. Georgia looked at Liv from the kitchen, mortified. 

“Oh, shit, Mr. Stark. I’ll be right back with a towel, I’m so sorry, fuck, oh my Lord,” she motioned to Georgia as she was getting back on her feet but Bentley was already at Mr. Stark’s side, gently scrapping the sugary mess off of his sleeve in an attempt to not let it soak in too much. 

Her accent had returned in full force, which it choose to do when she was either stressed, mad, or drunk. This was the stressed time, for sure.

Steve returned to his seat once he realized she was mostly ok. She noticed he was hard at work trying to not crack a smile. She also noticed he was almost at her side by that point. He was a quick one. Part of the perks of the serum, Liv thought to herself.

“Gravity is just bad right there, Chef. FRIDAY is already sending a new shirt down for me. It’ll be fine.” Mr. Stark reassured the visibly shaken Liv, offering a hand up.

“Of all the super powers and genetic anomalies in this room, none of you could help this poor girl or my suit? Anyone, Bueller… Bueller?” Stark said turning to his friends or colleagues.

“I’m just gonna go hide for a moment if you’ll excuse me,” Liv said as she regained her composure walking back to her office. 

“Chef, you ok?” Tony’s voice trailed off after her.

“Oh yeah, just completely mortified,” she offered, not looking back. He seated himself back down with a chuckle and picked up his conversation with Dr. Banner again. 

Making no eye contact on her way back into the kitchen, she didn’t stop until she was in her office.

“Did that just happen?” she asked herself and no one once safely seated in her sanctuary. God, had she just risked her job? Because a guy *almost* smiled at her? 

“Well, my biscuit may be well and truly burned this time,” she murmured to herself, rubbing her hands over her face, then pulling out a small stack of paperwork. She plugged in her earbuds, turned up whatever happened to be playing and got lost in the numbers, half waiting for her termination letter to show up in her inbox at any moment.


	3. About That Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're in for a little more slow burn here, folks. Hope you enjoy. I promise back story in the near future. 
> 
> Buckle your safety belts. It's gonna be a bumpy ride!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have someone who's graciously agreed to edit my works! Hooray! No more random tense changes and capitalization errors (I hope).

She didn’t know exactly how long she’d been in her office, but she knew it’d probably be clear for her to head back to her quarters without having to talk to anyone about her truly spectacular disaster that evening.

Her apartment was a single bedroom, about 1,000 square feet, and filled with books. It housed her bed which made it one of her favorite places on the planet. She wanted to escape to it and silently hoped the porters would take care of cleaning the kitchen without too many questions for Georgia.

Opening her office door, she realized she must’ve been closed in much longer than she’d previously hoped. There was no one in sight. The kitchen shimmered, perfectly cleaned. Checking the temps on all the coolers, making notes on a Stark pad, Liv finished her work. Putting her laptop and other junk in her computer bag, she swung it over her shoulder, hung up her chef coat and picked up her knife roll before strolling into the dining room.

She trusted her employees explicitly with her sharps but she slept easier knowing they were in her apartment with her when she went home every evening. And by going home, she meant walking down two flights of stairs, or if she’d had a longer than usual day, using the Avenger’s elevator.

Tonight was a night for the elevator.

Making her way through the darkened room, she saw his silhouette sitting alone, save one lone cup of coffee on his table. He was staring out the windows and was a million miles away.  
His being there stopped Liv in her tracks. Disturbing him seemed dangerous and interruptive. Was this something he did every night after they were gone? There was never a thing out of place in the kitchen when she opened it in the mornings.

“Steve?” her voice asked so softly she wasn’t completely sure she’d actually spoken. This was the right time for his first name.

He turned to her quickly. His expression was hard to read but it wasn’t exactly the same as his usually frosty mask.

“I’m leaving for the night. Can I get you something?” She asked louder yet her voice cracked. It had been hours since she’d last spoken.   “I heard your heart beat. I knew you were here, but you still surprised me,” he said matter-of-factly as he kept eye contact with her, although, yet again, she wasn’t sure he was looking at her.

  “You can… You can hear my heartbeat?” She raised an eyebrow, doubting he could see her facial expressions clearly, her right hand lightly touching her sternum. She was wearing a well-loved and practically threadbare charcoal gray t-shirt with a french diagram of a pig and her jeans. Steve looked where her hand hovered over her chest. Then, for only a fleeting moment, she knew he saw her without her chef coat.

“Sometimes. I’ve been listening to it since you started working here when I am close enough. It seems a bit fast for someone your age. Do you have a heart condition?” His question was one of care, not of physicality, but still… Could he hear her heartbeat?

“Not that I know of.” To say that Liv was perplexed was akin to saying that water was wet. This day just kept getting weirder and weirder.

She walked towards him. “Do you hear everyone's, all the time?”

“If I really listen, really concentrate, then I can. One of the results of Project Rebirth. It enhanced my hearing, my eyesight, my sense of smell and my taste buds,” he offered up matter-of-factly.

Liv was sure he could hear hers now speeding up. She was grateful for the dark cover of the barely lit dining room as she was sure her cheeks were starting to turn pink. Guess it didn’t really matter, he could probably see through to her skeleton, no matter what source of light he had.

“I… I think I’m embarrassed, Captain,” She whispered. Was she nervous? No, not nervous. Embarrassed, yes, nervous, no.

“How do you know my age?” She asked curiously. Unlike the Captain, her information wasn’t plastered all over the internet and across history books.

“Oh, I guess I was making an assumption. I just thought… I figured you were in your late twenties. And for someone in their late twenties, your heart seems to be working a bit fast,” it all spilled out at once.

She sighed.

“I’m 38.”

And with that declaration she sat down across from him in an unoccupied chair, removing her computer bag and placing her knife roll on the floor beside her, joining his table. Willing her heart to slow down seemed not to be working for her. Slowly she let her breath slip out of her nostrils in one last attempt to prove she wasn’t about to keel over from cardiac arrest.

The chunk of black ice housed in her rib cage seemed to melt somewhat at that moment.

“And I don’t have a heart condition, Mr. Rogers.” She was speaking barely above a whisper. Now was not the time to explain what he was making her heart do. He could figure it out on his own.

Her eyes hadn’t looked away from his. She studied his face. . . every line, every crease, every lash. Things she’d never noticed before. His eyebrows were somewhat darker than the hair on the crown of his head. His lips had always seemed thin to her but now she was seeing how his lower lip was fuller than his top lip.

She felt a shiver run up her spine and settle somewhere between her heart and lungs.

Breaking the staring contest, she slowly blinked her eyes. Did she break the silence, too? She just wanted to sit there with him. Comfort was quickly replacing their icy relationship and it found the two of them in the room and her beloved silence. In days filled with questions she had to answer, assignments discussed, talkative co-workers, and attempting to keep family updated on her life, Liv felt as if she rarely had peace to herself.

This was not like any other interaction they’d had with one another. There was even the threat of a real smile. It was then that her information seemed to sink in.

“You’re 8 years older than I am?” He asked. She could see him doing math in his head.

“No, you’re 60 years older than I am.” She smirked.

“Oh, right,” he dropped his eyes to his hands on the table. “Sometimes I forget that I’m not the same age as I should be. I still feel as if I should be 30.”

“You were born 9 months after my grandmother was. For what it’s worth, you were her only celeb “crush”. She thought you were mighty handsome,” Liv offered with a smile.

The giant yawn that suddenly snuck out of her left her hiding behind her arm. She blinked slowly again and realized she was tired. No, not tired, she was flat out exhausted. The feeling hit her as hard as she’d run into him in the kitchen - with a terrible “thwack”.

“I’m so sorry about that,” she whispered as she laid her head on the table, burying it in the crook of her arms, “but the tired just crept up on me.” She tucked one hand under her and left the other out, her fingertips tracing a small circle on the table top.

“I didn’t mean to bore you,” Steve replied. Did a smile color his voice? Maybe she was just imagining it. She peeked up to steal a glance at him. He was being a smart ass. He was grinning.

One of his hands reached across the table to move his coffee mug. Suddenly, she could feel his warmth on her forearm as the back of a finger slowly rubbed the exposed skin. A sigh of contentedness leaked from her lips and she moved her hand under his.

He gingerly let his fingers brush over hers, leaving his thumb to rub small strokes on the back of her hand.

Propping her head onto her elbow, she mumbled, “Walk me to my door, kind sir?”

“Of course,” he responded.

She stretched as she stood but he had reached for her bags before she could bend down. The heft of her paperwork and laptop and junk seemed like feathers for the Captain. Seeing as she was having a bull fight with gravity today, letting him carry them seemed like a smart option. There would be less accidental stabbing with him carrying her knife roll than if she decided to fall down again.

Tucking her hand into his elbow, she walked with him to the elevators and punched in her security code. She had the sneaking suspicion he memorized her number. She was ok with that. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze with his.

“Do you know why chef hats have all of the folds in them?” She asked him as they stepped onto the elevator. He smelled of something familiar.

“There’s a meaning to it?” He looked a little surprised. He was no longer looking like Captain America. His dirty blonde hair wasn’t the picture of perfection everyone was used to seeing on the cover of magazines and front pages of newspapers. There was a bit of “fluff” that would catch in the lights of the tower. He was becoming Steve to her. Not an Avenger, not a soldier out of place, a man out of time.

“A ‘true’ Chef should be able to cook an egg one hundred different ways and there are one hundred folds on a toque to denote that talent.” She was content to teach him this little fact to fill the time, although she felt that she could be comfortable with him in complete silence again.

Turning to look at him, face to face, she placed her hand on his elbow as she withdrew her arm from his.

“How many ways do you know?” He asked as he leaned back against the elevator wall. They would be at her door in no time.

“I know enough,” she chuckled. “I’m afraid if I start listing all the ways, I’ll sound like Bubba in Forrest Gump.”

“Eggs Benedict. Fried eggs. Over easy eggs. Over medium eggs. Scrambled eggs.” Steve’s impersonation was spot on. She smiled at him. He got her reference.

“Only 95 more ways to go!” She joked when he stopped, lightly nudging him with her elbow.

“Yeah, I think I’ll stretch it out,” he answered as the doors opened. “It gives me a reason to talk to you.”

Liv wasn’t so sure she heard the last sentence because his voice started to drift off as they left the elevator. She glanced at him for a split second while they walked towards her apartment. He was eyeing the floor. Yeah, he’d said it.

“Captain, you may speak to me whenever you want to, reason or not,” she stated firmly.

Somewhere inside her, at that moment, she made the decision that she didn’t want to play the game. Not with Steve. It was stupid and they were not. Sure, she’d been cold when they’d first met. But that was months ago and she was highly unsure of what she’d stepped into. Now she had her dream job. Also, were she to thaw her heart’s protection, she would not be subjected to silly games and unknowns nor would she do the same to a decent man.

What changed her in that moment she didn’t know. Was it the exhaustion? Possibly, but she made up her mind to live her truest form right then.

After a walk in silence, they arrived at her door. She used her keys, held her thumb to the bio-scan, and punched in her code here as well. Stark liked his security and she wasn’t complaining one bit.

Steve stood in the entry hall while she opened the door. She turned and took her bags from his arm and hands. She sat them inside her doorway and then returned to face Steve.

Roughly one thousand thoughts splashed through her mind.

“This is where I take my leave, sir,” she explained. The slight smile she was sporting slowly crept further across her face. “I appreciate your carrying of the things. It’s nice to not feel like a pack mule every day.”

There it was. He smiled a smile she’d never seen before. The crow’s feet spread around the corners of his eyes. There was so much to his face she’d never seen; so much to learn. It was a map of all of the lives he’d lived.

Liv knew her move. It was no move at all. It was what she wanted.

She lifted her right hand to his left cheek. Standing on her toes, using his right shoulder to balance with her other hand, she brought her face up to his and whispered, “Good night, Steve,” as she kissed him on the opposite cheek.

There was no question as to whether or not he could hear her heart this close.

And he smelled of soap, coffee, and something she couldn’t put her nose on, something familiar.

“Good night,” his voice rumbled as he let his fingers touch her at her elbow, then traced down to her hand as she pulled it away from his face. Grasping her fingers more gently than his hands should’ve allowed him to, he brought her fingers to his lips and kissed the top of her hand.

No one had done that. Ever. And she’d worked with many characters from all walks of life.

She re-opened her door and gave Steve a slight nod as she closed it.

Once inside her apartment, she reached down and gathered up her bags she’d so unceremoniously dropped only moments before. Walking into her space, she sat her wares down onto the kitchen counter.

“FRIDAY, did Captain Rogers smile when he left my apartment?” Liv asked, almost not wanting to know the answer.

“It appears Captain Rogers was smiling as he walked down the hall,” answered the A.I.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

She stood still, smiling to herself, trying to place the familiar smell he had. Only then did she remember something in the dining room. Jogging out of her room, tired as she was, she made quick time to the stairs and into the same room where she was sitting with Steve only moments ago.

She walked over to the table where they’d sat. Steve’s coffee cup was nowhere to be found. After searching the entire dish pit, she looked at the racks of coffee mugs.

There was not one out of place.

He’d already taken care of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter titles are from the song "Like Real People Do" by Hozier, in case you're wondering.  
> Thanks for reading!


	4. The Bugs and the Dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's backstory time, y'all!

“Tony, do we really need an entire kitchen staff up here for us to try to protect as well? The more people that are working with us, the more they are at risk of being collateral damage.” Steve huffed at his counterpart. 

“Come on, Cap. I already employ thousands of people, most of whom manage to stay safe. Are you really telling me that you can’t imagine adding 5 more people to our staff?”

“I just think it’s unnecessary. It adds more lives for us to be accountable for. Plus, these people can’t possibly know what all they’re trading to work as the Avengers personal cooks. They’ll never be able to leave campus without feeling like a target is painted on their backs.” Steve sat down in his chair at the meeting table. 

“Do you want to tell me the real reason you don’t want them here? Or are you just going to pretend to be over-extended with the addition of a few cooks?” Tony glared at Steve. He knew something else was going on. There had to be a real reason Captain America didn’t want a team of in-house chefs. With his metabolism and Thor’s love of revels, they were a very useful part of Avenger-life. 

“I may have made an ass of myself at the cafe where the chef and her assistant were working before here.” 

There it was. 

* * * * *

Steve knew he shouldn’t have left his apartment that day. He was tired and sore and this mess with Bucky was grinding on his brain. He wasn’t up for the normal duties of dealing with the public but he went out anyway. Maybe fresh air and stretching his legs would help. 

He was immediately noticed. On the sidewalk he’d gotten flustered with the amount of people wanting any part of him they could get so he ducked into the cafe, not watching where he was going. He ran straight into a server, who in turn dumped his entire tray of food onto the floor. Plates went this way, food that way. Luckily none managed to land on any of the guests. It made a terrible commotion. Suddenly the entire restaurant had gone quiet. 

“What the hell was that?” A female’s voice could be heard in the semi-open kitchen.  
Running to the back, the flustered server yelled, “I’m so sorry, chef. Re-fire table four, entire ticket.” 

“Right, I need an Acqua Pazza, a Market Fish, two Spag and Balls, and a Zuppa, on the fly.” 

“Fuck!” a male replied.

“Heard, chef!” another female replied from somewhere deeper in the kitchen.

“Christ, what happened to you? Are you okay?” Steve could hear the first woman asking the server over the voices that were starting to pick up in the dining room. The server told her exactly what happened. 

Steve winced at the story as he stooped down to try to clean up the mess, picking broken pieces of bowls and plates off of the floor, hopefully avoiding the guests glaring at him. A bus boy came out with a tub and mop. The team was making fast work of the mess, however, there was still the lack of food for the table who’d already had to wait. 

He saw the black chef coat pass him as he picked up a broken piece of china.

“I’m so sorry folks. I’m not sure what happened, but we will have your food out again as soon as possible. Please enjoy this on us today.” So, the female was the chef. And when she looked at Steve, she was not happy. 

Turning away from the table and walking back she stared him down. Not much scared him, but for that moment, she did.

“Captain, care to join me in the kitchen?” He followed her to the back.

“Actually, I was thinking I’d just leave. I think I’ve made enough of a mess,” he replied. 

“Would you mind at least taking a picture with the table who’s food you fucked up?” She asked. Her slate-colored eyes looked to bore holes into his head. 

“Oh, please… Not today. Get their info and I’ll get Tony to send them something. I’m not up for pictures today.” Steve stated while leaving the kitchen. 

He didn’t need this today and he didn’t have his wallet on him. Pepper’s team would smooth this over better than he ever could. 

“Sure, let everyone else clean up your mess. Must be nice, to blow through, leaving a path of destruction but not have to deal with the fallout.” Her words followed him into the dining room. 

He stopped, briefly, looking back over his shoulder. No one else had heard her biting words. She was back on the line, helping speed up the process, looking like she was conducting the most complicated symphony he’d ever witnessed. He watched for a moment until her eyes caught his. Turning back he used his long legs to storm back out onto the sidewalk. 

He dashed across the street and back into the Tower. He needed to talk to Pepper. He needed to get this fixed. He needed… a nap. 

****

“I thought Pepper took care of that.” Tony quipped, rolling a pen between his fingers. He looked over Steve, working out some problem that only he was seeing. 

“She took care of most of it. I haven’t apologized for my part yet. Not personally.” Steve admitted. “We got busy and I meant to go back, but I never did.” He looked embarrassed. 

Tony cracked a small smile. He was eating this up and Steve knew it. “You never have been good with women, Cap. Looks like Mr. Star Spangled Stammered strikes again.”

“Aw, shut it, Tony,” Steve said standing up and walking out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, this thing just keeps on growing and growing. Thanks for the comments and kudos! Y'all sure do know how to warm a girl's heart. I hope to post a few more chapters over the next few days.


	5. Why Were You Digging?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Liv lets loose a little and Steve is still a giant silly walnut.
> 
> Also, two chapters in two days! Wha-what!?! It's madness, y'all. Enjoy.

They frantically packed the last of the food they needed into a cooler for the event and then loaded that cooler into the catering van. This was the one thing that she'd been dreaming of since she started culinary school. She hadn’t known what shape or form it was going to come to her but this was it.

And what do the gods do to you when they want to punish you? They grant your wishes.

Olive and Georgia enjoyed a few moments of quiet as they drove into the city, neither knowing what to expect.

“Could you imagine this happening back when we worked at the hole?” Georgia chuckled into her coffee cup, riding shotgun.

“Never in a million years,” Liv replied. “Also, I forgot we called it that. Shit-hole might’ve been a better name, honestly. Remember that grease trap? I thought I’d never get that smell off of me.”

One of Stark’swell-offf friend’s had mentioned to him at a private dinner that Liv should cook at the James Beard House. Not long after that suggestion, SI reached out to the JBF and she was accepted. Pepper was the one who had to convince Liv to go through with it. Finally she agreed to it, what with Pepper being her boss, and she worked feverishly up until it was time to perform. That meant extra hours in her office and kitchen, tasting and testing… testing and tasting. This had to be perfect and Liv couldn’t sleep until it was.

Of course, professional success often comes at a personal expense, and this was just the case. She’d seen less and less of Steve as she’d completely immersed herself into this new venture.

The cooking duties had been delegated to a few stages/stagiaires from nearby culinary schools and other than writing out some menus, she’d been scarcely available.

They parked the car and shut off the engine.

“ _Chef - Good Luck tonight,”_ a text flickered across her phone from a blocked number.

Her mind was on the task of the night and she quickly dismissed it as one of her staff wishing her well, maybe it was one of the stages who hadn’t given her their number. Who else knew she was there?

“Here goes nothing,” Liv breathed as she tucked her phone into her knife roll.

 

———————————

  
  


“Holllllly shit, I’m drunk!” Liv cackled at Georgia as they stumbled into the giant common room. “We are fucking ROCKSTARS! WHOOOO!” The sous chef exclaimed as they toasted one another with plastic cups.

Tony followed soon after, Champagne bottle in hand, laughing at the two women celebrating and dancing around each other.

“Who knew misses straight and narrow could throw down as hard as the Hulk?” He asked as Natasha and Clint stopped the movie they were watching. Others were starting to join them, even at the late hour. No one had ever seen Liv like this and they were starting to enjoy her little impromptu party.

Olive may have made a few loud exclamations as they were getting off of the elevators, apparently on the wrong floor, laughing with Georgia the whole time. If that hadn’t announced the party loudly enough, Tony had been at the event and had asked FRIDAY to contact the other staff members with invitations to join them on the way back.

It was quickly known that an after-party was about to go down in the common area. No one missed after-parties. That’s where the real fun happened. You could see a faint handprint on the ceiling if you looked for it from the last one and they still found pieces of confetti in random places from previous festivities. Nat blamed Barton for both of those ‘incidents”.

The night had been one of great success and Tony had seen to it that there was plenty of press coverage to capture it all. Everything was right in her world and she couldn’t stop smiling.

Tony took up bartending duties and Georgia grabbed food from the kitchen fridge and laid it all out across the counters. Music had started softly playing while other Avengers and their partners filed in.

Tinkling a spoon against a glass, Tony addressed the room.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to congratulate Chef Olive on organizing and executing a spectacular dinner at the James Beard House tonight.” Everyone started clapping for her. She could feel the alcohol helping her blush as she bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment.

“Her food, like every meal I’ve ever had of hers, was phenomenal and, unless my eyes deceive me, I do believe she had several men eating out of her hand… which I’ve offered to do, yet she shoots me down every time.” He raised his hand towards her and wiggled his eyebrows.

Liv barked out a laugh. “I never know where that hand’s been.” She said before she could stop herself. Everyone chuckled, including Tony.

“She’s got a point,” conceded Georgia before slapping a hand over her mouth. Olive cracked up at her sous chef and rubbed her back a bit trying to comfort her. The entire room was laughing along with them.

Not skipping a beat but eyeing the feisty females, Tony continued his praise. “Being the benevolent overlord and gracious signer of the paychecks that I am, I wanted to personally congratulate you on an evening of great success. Enjoy your evening and tell your staff to enjoy a week off, with pay. ” With that, he popped open another bottle of champagne and refilled Liv’s glass.

“Now it’s a PARTY!”, Scott Lang announced and pulled Liv into a hug. Most everyone else followed suit, with hugs and handshakes. Her cell buzzed in her pocket and she checked her notifications. Mentions on Twitter and Instagram were scrolling across her screen faster than she could read them.

“What in the world happened?” She asked to no one. Unlocking her phone, she opened the apps to see where Tony had mentioned her on his accounts. That’s a surefire way to cause one’s social media to explode, having someone as influential as a Stark mention you.

She was about to lock her phone when a text message notification popped up.

“ _Chef - You look beautiful tonight. Congratulations on a well deserved success! - SGR”_

It was from the blocked number again. She scanned the room to see if she could make out who was texting her. None of her kitchen crew had those initials. Her head was swimming in a champagne haze, trying to figure out her secret admirer when Black Widow decided it was time for Karaoke. David Guetta’s “Hey Mama” started and the entire room took to dancing with one another. Lights started pulsing around with the tempo and their living area was taking on a rave-esque feeling.

Liv danced mostly with Georgia and Hope, making absolute fools of themselves and enjoying every moment of it. When the song finished EVERYONE seemed to be thoroughly having a good time. Then, she had an idea.

It was one of those ideas that should never be acted on. It was an idea completely fueled by booze and happiness. If she was sober, she would’ve been mad for even entertaining the thought. She was not sober, not by a long shot. Handing her glass to someone she didn’t even see, she moved towards the side of the room where Nat was standing.

“Wait wait wait! FRIDAY, can I do “Valerie”? Liv yelled at the ceiling as she jumped onto the couch. Natasha put her hand up to steady the tipsy chef.

“Of course, Chef,” The AI replied as a microphone was handed to her from who knows where.

“You know you don’t have to yell at the ceiling for FRIDAY to hear you.” Stark motioned to the tall ceiling with one hand, stirring something an unnatural color in a mixing glass with the other.

Liv continued on, “OH and make the dim the lights better.” She was drunk and words were not her strong suit right then. “And let’s do the Mark Ronson version of it!”

Amy Winehouse’s “Valerie” starting pouring out of the speakers.

The music started coursing through the room. The group now included about 20 agents, Avengers, and various friends. Some started moving to the rhythm as everyone was bathed in a red glow with pulsing lights bouncing around the room. It was their personal night club. The most exclusive ticket in town that no one knew existed. Thanks be to Tony for having the windows where prying eyes couldn’t see in.

Hopping off of the couch of death, she took the mic in hand and tested it with a slight huff. It was on.

 

“Well, sometimes I go out, by myself,

and I look across the water…

And I think of all the things,

what cha doin',

and in my head I paint a picture…” she belted into the air, clapping her free hand to her hip.

 

Clint turned around first, looking to see who was singing. He was quickly joined by 4 or 5 others as Sam and Steve made their way to the bar.

“What’ll ya have, Cap?” Tony asked above the music.

“Just a beer for now,” Steve replied loudly and took the cold bottle from Tony’s offering hand.

At first, he’d thought it was the stereo. Now he could see the blonde belting out the song to the room. Sam exchanged a smile with him as he was pulled into the dance area by Natasha.

 

“Cause since I’ve come on home,

well my body’s been a mess…

and I miss your ginger hair,

and the way you like to dress…

won’t you come on over,

stop making a fool outta meh,

why don’t you come on over

Valerie…. Valerie…. Valerie… Valerie”, Liv continued to sing her heart out and started to dance around a bit.

 

Steve watched from the periphery, trying to figure out how and why a karaoke party had erupted so suddenly, while keeping time somewhat with his body. He couldn’t dance and he wasn’t about to subject himself to the ridicule that would surely follow any attempt he made.

Her voice filled the room. Everyone was stunned in one way or another. Being able to cook is one thing. Belting out lyrics with a voice like that was another talent completely, and not one they’d expected.

She started making her way around the room, dancing with everyone and the crowd started to pulse with the music. Liv was having the most fun of her life and she wanted everyone to join in with her. She was in a red t-shirt with a picture of Julia Child holding a chef knife up that fit her perfectly, some jeans, and her hair was a hot damn mess from being tied under her bandana while preparing food at JBF House but she really didn’t care at this point.

“Did you have to go to jail,” she sang as she wrapped her left arm over Tony’s shoulder, slightly rubbing her torso up and down against his side.

“Put your house on up for sale, did you get a good lawyer?” she crooned making eye contact with the billionaire playboy, wiggling her eyebrows at him. Tony’s mouth was hanging slightly open but no words were coming out. No sexually charged quips, nothing. She’d stunned him into silence. Surely that was a first.

 

“I hope you didn't catch a tan,

I hope you'll find the right man

who'll fix it for ya,” she slinked by Sam as he danced with her. Widow was next.

 

“And are you shopping anywhere,

Changed the color of your hair,

are you busy?” she put her hand on Tasha’s shoulder as their hips starting grinding together, staring directly into her eyes. A seductive smile cracked on the assassin’s face.

 

“And did you have to pay that fine

You were dodging all the time,

are you still dizzy?”

 

The entire room had their eyes on the chef and the Widow.

Liv watched as her partner pulled her closer and danced harder with her.

 

'Cause since I've come on home,

Well my body's been a mess

And I've missed your ginger hair,”

 

Steve was watching the two women undulating up and down on the beat, not entirely explicit but not entirely benign. He wasn’t sure they wouldn’t kiss right at that moment. He heart dropped slightly at the idea.

 

“And the way you like to dress

Won't you come on over

Stop making a fool out of me

Why don't you come on over Valerie?

 

Valerie… Valerie… Valerieeeee….”

 

He wasn’t wrong. There was a kiss. Liv kissed Widow on her cheek and then she broke her hold with Natasha and kept singing.

That’s when she saw him. Standing on the outside of the gathering, watching her.

With all of the booze and adrenaline coursing through her veins, she strolled up to the soldier and started the last part of the song, staring him down while she did.

 

“Well sometimes I go out by myself.” With the lightest touch she could muster, she laid her hand on his abdomen.

 

“And I look across the water.” He stepped closer to her but just by an inch.

“And I think of all the things, what you're doing.” Looking down, he watched her every move as he brought his hand to her elbow.

 

“And in my head I paint a picture.” She ran her hand up his torso and over his shoulder as she walked herself around his shoulder, his gaze never leaving hers until she disappeared.

Behind him was no one and she lightly kissed the back of his shirt as she passed by. She felt her hand trapped by his hand on his shoulder. He let her go when she pulled and she traced the curves of his back as she tried to memorize each and every bit.

 

“Cause since I've come on home,

Well my body's been a mess

And I've missed your ginger hair

And the way you like to dress

Won't you come on over

Stop making a fool out of me

Why don't you come on over Valerie?”

 

And then her touch was gone and she was sauntering back into their friends. He could still feel the exact spot where she kissed his back.

 

“Valerie… Valerie… Valerie… Valerie…Valerie… Valerie… Valerie… Valerie…Why don’t you come on over Valerie?” she finished.

 

The song ended and the room erupted with hoots and hollers.

 

“Holy fucking shit balls, that was fun.” Scott’s voice rang through the room. “Who’s next? Me, well absolutely, I’d love to go next.”

After Scott came Sam. Turns out, Sam can pull off a pretty decent Otis Redding.

She thought about asking the Captain for a dance but she remembered the story about him and Peggy and thought better of it.

When Sam sat the mic down no one else made a move to pick it back up. Most were too drunk at this point to even want to sing. Some couples had left but plenty were still enjoying themselves.

FRIDAY had already started playing music when Tony told it a Spotify playlist to put on.

Hozier’s “Work Song” started and the mood turned to something more seductive as people started pairing off. No one paid much attention to anyone else.

Jane and Thor were obscenely making out in one of the lounge chairs. Hope and Scott stood in a corner, slowly swaying and making each other giggle back and forth. Sam had Maria’s full attention, trying to get her to loosen up a bit with jokes while Clint and Tasha practiced a dance they’d performed for years together. Pepper had Tony preoccupied behind the bar, whispering things in his ears, until he started taking shots. Darcy had some agent eating out of her hands, slowly moving her hips back against his groin while she danced on him.

Steve took Liv’s hand from her side before she saw him and he drew her into his chest, placing his other palm in the center of her back.

“Now, I can feel your heart,” he whispered into her ear, pulling her close.

Liv felt the flush run up her face. She could smell his scent as she leaned her head into his shoulder. She no longer wanted him. She needed him. In whatever fashion she could get him.

 

—————————————

 

At her door, Steve punched in her code and she put her hand on the pad.

“So, you do remember,” She smiled at him bumping his arm with her shoulder.

“Just in case,” he told her earnestly, pushing her door open for her.

Turning back to him, she pulled his form into the hallway of her apartment and let the door shut.

He was breathing heavy and she could almost feel the radiating warmth of his body. Maybe he ran hot but that heat mixed with booze and her evening at the Beard Foundation was clouding her brain.

“Steve?”

“Yes.”

“Kiss me goodnight.”

That was all the permission he needed. His lips urgently found hers and she ran her hands around his neck, pulling him into her. He crowded her against her wall, parting her lips, melting as she let a moan escape, pressing her body almost through his, his hands exploring her curves.

She bit into his lower lip, sighed, and then pulled away.

“Goodnight, Steve.”

She pecked his cheek then searched his eyes. She needed him to understand how much she wanted him, but not now. Not this soon. Not yet.

“Good night, Liv,” he breathed into her ear, sending chill bumps down her arms. Then he kissed her forehead as if she were candy glass.

One strong hand on the door and he was out of her apartment. Hours later her phone buzzed on her bedside table.

 

“ _Sleep well, Beautiful. - SGR”_

 


	6. What Did You Bury?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now it's getting steamy. Hope y'all enjoy.

It was late afternoon and Steve was at the safe house in Tromsø. Most of the team was still back at the tower, sleeping off their night of revelry, and seeing as the mission was a minor one at best, Cap knew he could handle it himself with just a few agents. He was just about the only one whose blood alcohol level was in a safe range anyways. 

They’d dealt with the trouble, but why do people keep making shitty murder bots? Did no one learn with Ultron? If Tony Stark can’t get it right, why does some peon with a normal IQ and bank account to match think they can make it work?

He’d taken a couple of hard hits, but nothing that would take longer than a few hours to heal on their own. His tattered uniform was stored in his case and he’d just stepped out of the shower when the noise from his laptop alerted him. 

Incoming message from Tasha. 

“How’d it go, Swayze?” 

Then a security footage still of him with Liv popped up on the screen. It wasn’t clear and had he not been there for the original sight, it might’ve been hard for others to see who they really were. But he knew. He remembered the feel of her dancing against him, her hand on his arm. The smell of champagne on her breath, the curve of her hip, the way she’d tasted as she kissed him, so in control and wanting to let loose. He remembered it all. Of course, Natasha noticed it as well. At least she wasn’t nagging him about it too much. 

He replied that the bots had been dealt with and that Stark’s recovery team was already repairing the damage, although minimal this time. He would be back soon.

Then he typed in commands and his dashboard appeared on over the messages. 

“FRIDAY?” he called to no one.

“Captain Rogers, how may I be of service?” the house replied.

Still fighting his inner dialogue, he hesitated to ask, “Do I have access…. do I… do I have access to Chef’s feed?” 

“She has granted you access, Captain. Shall I bring the feed up?”

“Yes.” 

His eyes were greeted with a tangle of blankets and pillows with a fluff of hair at the head of the bed. Looking her over, a smile of contentment crept over his mouth. As he moved the cursor to click the close button he decided to scroll back to the prior evening. 

Running the video feedback to the time he’d said his goodbye, he watched her door opening, the two of them frantically feeding off of one another’s mouths, then her pull away and he leaves. His boxer briefs tightened as he relived the feel of her against him. He readjusted the way he was sitting and watched as the door shut behind him on the screen. Liv’s hand ghosted over her lips and she let her head lean against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut. He turned the volume up just as a moan escaped and he almost came immediately. 

It felt wrong for him to watch this private moment. But she’d put him on her list of allowed viewers. She wanted him to be able to see her if he had the urge. And that urge was uncontrollable at the moment. 

On the screen, the blonde let her hand slide down her neck and rub across her well-endowed chest, rubbing over her nipples that had hardened against her shirt. He was noticing curves he’d only felt before, never quite taking in her figure completely. She seemed to be more voluptuous than he remembered. Was it her back, arched against the wall? 

He was hard and his moisture was making its way onto the fabric of his shorts. Rubbing himself with his palm, he kept his eyes glued to the screen as he watched her slide her hand into her pants, releasing a sigh mixed with a moan, her hips starting to pulse against the wall. 

“Oh…. oh… ohhhhh,” she mumbled with deep breaths. Not certain, he thought she might be about to make herself climax. He pulled himself out of his shorts, not entirely used to his new size and girth. The muscle memory from pleasing himself for 26 years had been replaced with longer strokes and a wider grip. He made enough moisture to rarely need help and it now was helping him. Rubbing his thumb across the head of his hard member, he joined her in her moans. He hoped no one else could hear him. 

All he could think about were her small hands, what she was hiding in her panties, her taste, all of the things about her he needed to know for himself. He wanted her smell on him as he left for missions. He wanted to fill her up completely with himself as he watched her explode over him. 

Now he just needed to know what she wanted from him. 

The figure on the screen pushed away from the wall and he switched angles to watch as she shimmied out of her jeans once in her bedroom, placing her phone on her bedside table. She tossed the spread back and reached under her shirt to pull her bra off. The sight of her full breast stretching her shirt bordered on erotic. Her hands continued to rub softly at her chest, so round, her small nipples rock hard. 

Pulling a pillow down onto the bed, she left her clothes on as she mounted it. She whispered something so low that Steve had to run the feedback and turn the sound up. 

“Not my first choice.”

Steve again hoped she wanted him at that moment and would let him know exactly how she wanted him when he returned. 

Her thighs wrapped around the pillow between her legs and she covered herself with her blanket, settling down into the bed. He could see her ass pulse up and down as she worked herself into a frenzy. Faster he stroked his member, matching her thrusts, memorizing her sounds as she got close to finishing. 

“Yes… yes… oh god, yes… need you, in me… please, please…” she huffed as her breath quickened. Her stunted moans escaped her lips and he could see her jerk more harshly. He was close and then she made a higher pitched moan, signaling her final release. 

“Steve, yes!” She gasped out between stilted breaths. 

The sound of her saying his name made him explode all over his hands and chest. He’d made a mess and was trembling from the force of his release. Once his breathing was better controlled, he’d clean it up, but now, right now, he was watching her. Her hips moved slightly as she pulled the pillow away and she rolled over to lay half uncovered. He could see the darkened dampness between her legs on her panties. Looks like she’d been as worked up as he had. Her hand felt her moisture and she leaned her head up to look, shook off a little laugh and said to no one in particular, “from just a kiss”. Rolling over, she covered herself back up and fell into a slumber. 

He shut his laptop. When he got back, he was going to ask her out, properly. He cleaned himself quickly and then tapped out a text on his phone. The end of this mission couldn’t come soon enough.


	7. Before those hands pulled me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to post this chap before Christmas so that those of you who celebrate would/could enjoy it. I posted it from my phone and now that I'm looking over it, I can see ALL OF THE FORMATTING ERRORS!!! 
> 
> I shall work on those. Hope you enjoy!

The Avengers could survive a week without Olive and Georgia.  Some were away on missions, some were just away. Everyone had kitchens in their own apartments. Whether any of them could actually cook more than, say, making a PB&J, she didn’t know.  Reading the text she got from Natasha, she’d be willing to venture that the answer was no.  

_“You said when you're making pasta, you’re supposed to salt the water?_

_Why?”  - Widow_

_“Salt opens the palate to taste everything else that’s going on in the dish but it gets absorbed better as the pasta is cooking in the water. It just makes everything taste better.” - Chef_

_“But the box doesn’t say to do that.” - Widow_

_“What are you making?” - Chef_

_“Mac & Cheese.” - Widow _

_“For breakfast?  Wait… Is the box blue?” - Chef_

_“Yes? And don’t judge.” - Widow_

_“Too late.  Just follow the box instructions.” - Chef_

_“So, don’t salt the water?” - Widow_

_“God NO.  It’ll be inedible.  Your tongue will hate you if you do. :P” - Chef_

_“Well, we all know my tongue is a powerful weapon.  Can’t have it hating me.  It has an important mission with Barton later.” - Widow_

_“TMI, Tasha… T.   M.  I.” - Chef_

_“You know you want details.” - Widow_

_“True.  Drinks tomorrow night?” - Chef_

_“If we’re here, then absolutely. I’ll bring vodka.” - Widow_

She rolled out of bed at the relatively late hour of 7 am and stumbled into her kitchen.  Stepping on the foot switch, she lit up her Christmas Tree.

 

“FRIDAY, can you put on my Christmas playlist, set to random, please.” She asked to the ceiling.  Seth MacFarlane’s Big Band Christmas started playing, “Baby It’s Cold Out There” softly as she walked towards her kitchen area.  She turned her oven on and reached into the fridge.  Pulling out the package of bacon, she looked over the contents of her personal fridge.  Not a ton of stuff, besides beer and wine and sparkling waters.  

What she did have was the sweet dough she’d made the night before that was proofing in a mixing bowl beside a container of cinnamon smear.   Bacon and cinnamon rolls with coffee - it really was her favorite breakfast.  

After a brief period of searching, she found her cake pan and the sheet trays she needed.  She pulled slices of bacon off of the slab and laid them across a rack on the sheet tray.  

She grabbed the bowl of dough and measured out what she would need for one pan’s worth of rolls.  She punched it down on her flour covered countertop and rolled it into shape.  Smearing the cinnamon mixture and sprinkling pecans across it, she smiled.  Pecans always reminded her of home.  Her mother made the best buttered-pecans at Christmas and she remembered burning her tongue every year because she couldn’t wait for them to cool off enough before she crammed them her mouth.  

She stopped.  Christmas was a tough time.  Even though years had passed, the pain was still there.  

“I miss you, mom.” She whispered out loud.  Tears threatened to spill down her cheek but she closed her eyes and let the moment wash over her.  Breathing deeply, she finished rolling up the dough and slicing it into buns.  Greasing down the cake pans, she slid each bun in carefully and sat them aside for one last rise.  

What she needed right then was coffee.  The canister that held her life blood was empty.  Fuck.  How could SHE run out of coffee?  

Walking past the microwave, she caught a glance of her epic case of bed head.  Bleached blonde poofs stuck up in random spots where it had worked its way out of her tiny top knot.  The shorter hairs on the left side of her head were standing straight out, very evident of which side she’d slept on.  She tried in vain to push down the stray hairs but they had a mind of their own and stuck out just as far as they had, to begin with.  A trip to her kitchen office was her last hope for good coffee. She just hoped she didn’t run into anyone.    

Cramming a ball cap over her mess of hair, she took inventory of her outfit. Her oversized black t-shirt hung almost to her knees and slightly off one shoulder.  She put her sports bra on and slid into some black leggings and her sneakers.  The ball cap didn’t help with the side hairs, and she pulled her hair down and attempted to redo the top knot.  It was pointless and she decided this was all too much work to do without coffee.

She loaded the buns into the oven and leaving the comfort of her apartment made her way through the empty stairwell until she caught sight of her office door.  Quietly she padded into her home away from home.  Unlocking her office with a few swift keystrokes, a swipe of her hard pass, and a retinal scan, she was in and digging through her desk for her secret stash of Counter Culture.  

 

“Hey, Chef!”

“Gah!!!” Liv jumped at the sound.  She hadn’t heard anyone else walk in.

“Bentley.  Why are you here?” She asked, finally seeing where her dishwasher was calling her from in the kitchen.  

Bentley walked into her office, “Sorry, I ran out of milk.  George likes milk in his coffee.” He held up the container so she could see.

“Oh, George likes milk in his coffee, does he.  I take it the date went well?” She asked, winking a knowing smile at him.

“Dates. Plural.  We’ve been out 4 times now.” Bentley’s smiled so brightly, you’d have thought he was related to Thor. “And before you ask, yes, he’s been checked and double checked and authorized as an SI visitor.”  

“Good.  At least we know he’s probably a decent human,” she chuckled.  Liv was happy for him.  “Go… enjoy your man. And your coffee.” She shooed him away.

Bentley smiled and turned to leave.  “Hey Chef, what are you doing tonight?”

“I have intricate plans of watching tv and not moving from my couch. I might even try to down an entire bottle of wine.” She was only half-joking. “Why?”

“Welllll, some of us are going out.  You wanna join?  It’ll be fun!” His eyes starting to light back up as he asked. “Just us kitchen peeps, really. You can't be alone on Christmas Eve.”

Liv thought about it for a second.  Running her hand through her distraught hair, she realized she hadn’t been out with friends since they started the new job.  She could use a night out.  She had no other plans the following day.  

“Yeah, sure.  Why the fuck not… that sounds like a plan.” She replied to Bentley’s delight.  “What time and where?”

“We’ll Über there, so meet us downstairs around 8 pm. Yay, yay, yay!  This is gonna be so much fun,” he exclaimed as he did a little pirouette in the kitchen.  “Wear something you can dance in but nothing too fancy.”

Briefly, she wondered what the Captain was doing that evening, but then she remembered he’d left on a mission.  And THEN she wondered if she wasn’t becoming attached to the idea of him being part of her life.  

“Sure thing, Bent.  Skinnies, a nice top, and boots will work, right?” She asked, half needing the help and half wanting him to know she owns other clothing than kitchen attire.  

“Perfect.  Wear something to show off the girls.  You know… for free drinks.” Bentley did his best Marilyn Monroe shoulder shimmy and started to walk out. “See you at 8!” And he was gone, with his milk.

“Right… free drinks.” She mumbled to herself.

Her stomach rumbled.  She needed to get back to her breakfast.  

\-----------

Steve stopped in the hallway right outside the stairwell, his senses overwhelmed with a savory smell that had wrapped around him like a warm blanket. A touch of sweetness was in the air he was breathing and his stomach suddenly felt as if it were attempting to eat his backbone.  The sounds of Big Band Christmas Music caught him by surprise.  Who was listening to this?  At 8 am?  On a Saturday morning?  The day before Christmas?

He found himself drawn to a door near the end of the hall he was on, literally following his nose. Rarely did he visit the support staff’s quarters, but he was taking the stairs to his apartment when the scent hit him as soon as he climbed to this floor.  

He knew the door he was standing in front of.  

It was Liv’s.  He knew the code to get in if he wanted to.  He wanted to.  He just couldn’t bring himself to knock immediately. 

Standing impossibly still, listening to “Hello, Mr. Kringle” through her door, memories shook free from his past.  

There were many Christmas’ his mom tried to make enjoyable, even if there wasn’t much to be merry about.  Once, sitting around the radio while he tried to recover from a particularly bad asthma attack, this song inspired them to make a list of the things they’d ask for Santa to bring.  His mom asked for a new pair of lungs for Steve along with a left ear he could fully hear out of.  He asked for a new dress for her to wear to church and some gloves that matched.  Santa didn’t show up for either of them that year, but he still had the fond memory.

One other Christmas, after his mother’s passing, Bucky hid oranges into his stocking.  Later he would confess that he’d heard they helped with sickness and it warmed Steve’s heart.

The next song threw him even further back into his past.  hide

It was 1938 and Bucky managed to talk their way into the backstage of Carnegie Hall.  One of the stage attendants owed him and to repay his debt, he let them watch Benny Goodman’s historic show from the top most catwalk.  It was the first time a jazz band, one that was integrated no less, would ever play the historic venue and tickets were sold out.  Climbing up to their perch almost did him in but, for two plus hours, Steve and his best friend enjoyed what would become a legendary performance.  It was one of the good memories he had and it always made him smile.

The clarinet's melody of “Winter Weather” tinkled through the door and he didn’t move.  

Until a small hand touched his arm.  His eyes caught hers but she didn’t say anything.  Liv looked concerned.  He looked sad.  So incredibly sad.  

“Do you want to join me for breakfast?” She asked impossibly quiet, tilting her head in concern.

He found his tongue tied.  For whatever reason, he felt like he owed her an apology. If not an apology, at least an explanation as to why he was staring at her door, almost in tears.  As if on cue, his stomach made a God-awful noise.

Her face broke into a smile and his pain was broken for a moment.    

Two hours later, Steve was sitting at her kitchen island and had demolished a stack of bacon with cinnamon rolls and was drinking some of the best tasting coffee he’d had.  Her playlist integrated past and present Christmas music into the background.  Some of the songs he didn’t recognize at all but he enjoyed her taste in music.  Her apartment was warm and cozy.

“Better than ARMY coffee?” Liv asked, licking her fingertip to get the last drop of icing off of her plate.  It might have been the most attractive thing he’d ever seen if it hadn’t been for the crazy angles her hair had taken to sticking out.

“Better than ARMY coffee for sure.”  He leaned towards her to ruffled the poof of hair on her left temple.  “Your hair reminds me of Dugan’s when he’d take his bowler off.”  She rolled her head out of his reach, hopped off of her seat, and walked to the sink.

“There’s really no help for this mess,” she laughed as she ran water over her hand and attempted to smash the hair back into place, looking at her reflection in the microwave.  He chuckled at her.  “Like your hair looks…”  She turned back to him, “well, perfect.  Your hair always looks perfect.”  Her lips curved into a resigned smile.  He suddenly felt self-conscious.  His hand went to his neck, a nervous habit he’d picked up. She moved to clear the plates from the counter and deposited them in the sink, turning on the water.

They’d talked and talked about almost everything, yet not much, while she finished making breakfast. Well, about everything but that fateful day in the cafe or their last encounter and especially not about the fact that he’d watched her while he was on his mission.  He wondered if she knew.  A part of him felt voyeuristic about what he’d done.  

One of his better demons shouted in his head that she’d put him on her list. That she wanted him to watch.  She wants him.  He wasn’t sure if he should listen to that particular demon.  

She’d started humming along with a song he realized.  “Wonder whose arms will hold you, good and tight, when it’s exactly 12 o'clock that night, welcoming in New Year’s, New Year’s Eve.” She sang lowly to herself as she started filling the dishwasher, swaying slightly in time with the song.  For a moment, he wondered if she remembered he was still there.  He knew the words to the song but not this version.  

He slipped off of his stool and walked around to where she was.  He leaned over her to turn the water off, closed the dishwasher, and pulled her towel off of her shoulder.  Reaching down, he pulled her left hand into his and brought it to his shoulder.  Taking her right hand in his, he ran his left hand to the center of her back.  Her eyes never left his, again, and this time, he swore she was looking directly into his soul.  It made his spine tingle in the best way.  

They slowly rocked back and forth, not dancing any known steps.  Lowering her eyes, she settled her left cheek to his chest and he could smell her shampoo, the coffee on her breath, and a scent he knew was hers alone.  She was warm and soft and he never wanted to let go.

“Can I take you to dinner tonight?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before his brain could catch up.  

Turning towards him, she looked searching his face.  Waiting a moment, her face seemed to fall a bit.  “I have plans for tonight.” She replied quietly.  

“Oh!” Of course, she had a date.  “I’m sorry.  I just thought I could repay you for breakfast.”  He scrambled for a reply that didn’t show how much he was let down.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed in his pocket.  Breaking the hold, he removed it. It was Nat.

“I’m so sorry… but it’s urgent,” he claimed, making his way for the door.  

“It’s ok.  Really, Captain.  Thanks for the company.” She smiled as he opened the door.  “Be careful.”  

He nodded and left.  


	8. From the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware, all ye who enter here. Smut/Sex lies ahead. Consider yourself warned.

“I think it’s the Captain. Isn’t his middle name Grant?” Georgia asked Liv in the backseat of the Über, attempting to put her lipstick on at a stop light.

The chef looked over the last text she’d received from the blocked number. “You think so?”

“ _Have a great evening. - SGR_ ”

She hadn’t replied yet. She’d figured out who all it wasn’t, but she didn't have the guts to confirm with FRIDAY who it might be. Georgia was right. Those were his initials. He wasn’t trying to hide, but he didn’t want it to be too obvious who it was.

 _“I’ll try_.” Did she hit send? Her heart was beating fast in her chest, and her stomach felt as if it were doing a belly flop into the deep end of a pool. She should just ask who it was outright. The person on the other end apparently wanted her to think of them. Otherwise, why bother. And they left their initials. She erased her reply.

Typing once again, she quickly composed another text and stared at it until she felt everyone’s eyes on her. “What?” She asked, unaware of anything else happening around her.

“We’re here. Send that text and let’s go.” Bentley said, opening his door. They all climbed out of the car and headed to the bar.

It was a club just like any other, decorated for the holidays, and tonight was Drag Queen Bingo followed by a DJ. They were going to pretend their lives were normal, at least for an evening.

The bar inside was a long L-shape that ran the length of the room that lead into a stage with room for dancing. Liv ordered a Bourbon and Ginger, sitting down on the short side where she could take in the entire room. She loved people watching, and her perch gave her a direct line of sight to the stage. Getting to see her staff unwind is especially rewarding. George was making Bentley laugh, telling him secrets close to his ear. Georgia’s boyfriend was trying to keep up with one too many bingo cards while she was helping put the dots in their squares.

She pulled out her phone and realized she’d never hit send on her reply to the mystery number.

“ _How was work?_ ” It seemed like a safe text. She hit send and let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

He’d bolted out of her place suddenly, and she didn’t know if it was because he had a mission or if he was saving face. If her crappy detective work was off and it wasn’t Steve texting her from this number, her text would be innocuous. She put her phone in her boot and drew another long pull through the straw in her drink.

She could feel the tingling fingers of the alcohol running down her back, and she could tell she was getting tipsy as she neared the end of her drink. A flush spread across her cheeks. She knew she was nearing her limit for the moment, especially if she wanted to dance later.

“Can I get you another one?” A voice startled her. She hadn’t seen the guy walk up beside her. “Um, no thanks… I’m feeling pretty good. But, thank you.” She answered as politely as possible. He wasn’t bad looking, but he wasn’t what she found attractive. Honestly, next to Steve, who was? Well, there was Thor. And Clint. And Bruce. Okay, other than the Avengers, who was? Not this guy. He nodded and seemed to melt away but Liv felt his eyes on her for longer than she thought was necessary.

Uncrossing her legs, she removed her phone from her boot. Several messages were waiting for her.

“ _It was the longest meeting of my life. Maria leaves no stone unturned. I thought Nat might figure out a way to off herself just to get out of that room. Clint turned his hearing aids off ten mins in._ ”

She chuckled. There was their answer. It was Steve.

“ _Why does your number show up at blocked?_ ” She replied. She knew she should be socializing with her team but honestly, they were having enough fun with their partners right then.

“ _Tony insists. Security protocols. Wait, then you didn’t know it was me?_ ”

“ _Not until about five mins ago, when I remembered your middle name._ ”

“ _I hope I’m not distracting you from your date._ ”

Wait, what? What had he just said? She wasn’t on a date. She had plans with friends. Looking up, she realized Bent was giving her an odd expression. He mouthed the words, “you ok?” at her over George’s shoulder.

“Huh?” Her expression must’ve said even if he couldn’t hear her words. Hopping off of her bar stool, she walked over to the couple, setting her drink on their table. “What were you saying?” She asked into Bentley’s ear.

“I was wondering if you were ok. You looked concerned, and that guy was staring at you.” He leaned closer to her ear so she could hear over the “Lady of the Mic” who was yelling lewd jokes and bingo numbers. Turning subtly, she realized the guy who’d talked to her earlier was still nearby, looking at her. This time she pulled her phone out to text Bentley instead of trying to yell at him.

“I turned him down. Don’t know if he got the hint, though. Help me keep an eye on him?”  
Bentley nodded in agreement then showed the text to George. They exchanged a serious look at each other, then Bentley’s fingers were skimming over his phone.  
 “We got you, Chef.”

“Thanks, guys. I’m going to the restroom.”

Standing up, she slid her drink closer to Bentley, and he put his hand on it, to keep it safe. The last thing she needed was to be drugged, again.

After using the facilities, she checked out her outfit in the bathroom mirror. An oversized gray plaid flannel shirt laid over a white v-neck t-shirt that showed off her curves, just like Bentley told her to. Fitted black leggings and her favorite black boots that looked bad-ass but still had room should she need to stuff her phone or a flask down the side of them finished out her ensemble. Her platinum hair was down for once and was a cross between and pixie cut on the left of her face and a 1920s bob on the right side. The dark wine-colored lip stain she was rocking made her gray eyes look blue for the evening, and she thought she looked pretty good.

Dragging an additional coat of stain across her lips, she heard Drag Queen Bingo ending and music being played on the stereo until the DJ could take over. Walking back towards her spot at the bar, she realized Bentley and George weren't there. Slipping next to Georgia, she pulled her phone again and motioned to her to read her phone.

“Where did the boys go?”

“Mine is in the bathroom. I saw a guy talk to Georgie and Bent, then they all walked off to talk to one of the performers. Not sure where they are now.”

Georgia and Liv both scanned the crowd but didn’t see any of the guys in her party. And, of course, as if on cue, super creeper dude situated himself right behind Liv, breathing in the smell of her hair.

“You should let me buy you that drink. I’ll make your night fun.” His breath smelled so strongly of bad tequila that Liv wasn’t sure she wouldn’t get drunk just from it.

As firmly as she could, she answered over her shoulder, “I thought I told you ‘no.'” Georgia’s eye looked frightened, and for a moment, Liv was glad she wasn’t facing the guy.

Then, he made the mistake of putting his hand on her ass and one on her shoulder, trying to pull her into his body.

Without any other exchange, she cracked a small smile at Georgia, centered her stance, bent her knees a little, and landed an elbow into the guy's stomach and a hammer fist into his crotch as hard as she could. Taking her chance to step forward, she turned around; the super creep was bending over, and she spotted the sweet spot where his jaw connected to his neck.

“Cunt.” Her assailant yelled at her, his hand holding his crotch. She heard a scramble behind her and people began talking louder. Looking at him, she plainly said, “You’ll never be able to call anyone that again.” From his position, he looked like he might make a move for her knees. Balling up her right fist, she squeezed her thumb to the side of her index finger, drew back, and brought it down with all of her force on that sweet spot she’d zeroed in earlier.

The connection made a terrible sound. Blood splattered from his mouth as he hit the bar floor, blacked out. Liv stood still over his prone position. The bartender had made his way to where they were, and he looked at the figure on the floor.

“Can’t say he didn’t have it coming to him. You ok?” He asked with a serious scowl on his face. “I’m so sorry he did that. I think he was about to slip something in your drink, but he saw me watching and stopped. It was hard to keep an eye on him after that.” The bartender sounded like he was glad she took care of the problem but he was still concerned.

“Yeah, I’m ok. Can I have some ice for my hand?” She pulled her phone out of her boot and took a quick picture of the figure on the floor. She didn’t know why it just seemed like the right thing to do. That’s when she realized her knuckles were starting to throb slightly. She hadn’t trained in a long time, and she hoped she hadn’t broken it.   He reached down, scooping ice into a baggie from the well. “Absolutely. Lemme get you a towel.” A pair of men Liv assumed were bouncer’s were pulling the still passed out man up and off of the floor. The manager asked to talk to her in the office for a moment, and she obliged, following him into the maze of halls in the back.

Once she returned to the floor, George, Bentley, Georgia, and Georgia’s beau were dancing in the crowd that had grown since she’d left. They caught sight of her and made a beeline behind each other trying to get to where she stood. After she had told them that their tab had been comped by the bar that evening, that she wouldn’t be pressing charges but neither would the creep, they all agreed to pretend that he hadn’t ruined their evening. Her hand tingled but nothing terrible.

“ _I guess it didn’t go so well…_ ” She replied to Steve’s text.

She sent him the picture.

Incoming call - blocked number

She should’ve seen that coming. Stepping outside for a moment, she answered the phone.

“Steve?”

“Liv! Are you ok? Tell me you’re safe?” Steve’s voice came crashing over her phone, and she smiled to herself.

“Commander… calm down. I’m fine. Everyone’s fine, well, except that asshole who didn’t know what boundaries are or what the word “no” means.” Liv attempted to reassure Steve that all was well, now. She realized her voice was still a bit shaky. It started out as a great night, then a shit night. Fucking creep.

Steve let out a small breath. “What happened?” He asked, his voice calmer.

“He wanted to buy me a drink. I declined. He grabbed my ass, and I did some damage to his family jewels. He then proceeded to call me a cunt, so I proceeded to dislocate his jaw.” It sounded like she was telling someone else’s story to her then. It felt surreal as if it happened and she was just a bystander.

A beat passed. “That’s my girl.” Steve’s voice sounded a touch amused and slightly aroused.

“CHEF!!! COME BACK IN AND DANNNNNCE WITHHHH MEEEEE!” Bentley drunkenly screamed at Liv as he sauntered out of the front doors. She held up her “wait a minute” finger to him and returned to the phone call.

“You’re girl, huh?” She asked, coyly.

“Um, uh… well…” Steve suddenly realized what he’d implied, and she wanted him to squirm, just a little bit.

She breathed into the phone, “We’ll have to talk about this later. I’ve got some dancing to do. Night, Cap.” And just like that, she ended the call, following Bentley back inside.

The packed club along with the beat of the music pulsed around the bar, and the dance floor was full of people enjoying their holiday drunkenness. Most were probably escaping annoying families or maybe the solitude of the lack thereof. Liv melted into the crowd and bumped and swayed and danced until she could barely stand up. Bentley took a selfie with her and told her she looked hot. She sent it to Steve.

Somewhere, above the dance floor, glitter bombs erupted, covering the crowd in silver sparkles. A roar floated up as everyone danced around in the winter wonderland floating over them. They were all sweaty messes, and the glitter stuck to them like glue.

Twenty minutes later, Georgia’s boyfriend texted the group that their Uber was on its way and she was making her way to the bar, trying not to fall over. She ordered a cup of ice water from the bartender, and he was kind enough to give her group some trash bags to sit on. They did NOT want to pay to have the Uber detailed because they left a trail of glitter in their wake.

Liv had mostly sobered up by the time they got home. Everyone was walking into the building when George bumped into her, and her large cup of ice water that was still very full exploded all over her.

The entire group stopped in its tracks and took in the sight of their boss in front of them, her hair sprinkled with silver specks that continued down her face, her shoulders, and trailed into her cleavage that was now accentuated by a dripping wet and very cold white t-shirt. She shuddered, and laughter erupted through the group. Georgia may have cackled.

“Well, what an appropriate end to a crazy fucked-up night,” Liv stated very matter-of-factly. “This is my cue to go to bed. Y’all have a good evening.” She tossed her cup in the garbage can as she crossed to the elevator.

 

  
———————————————

Steve was still awake. The shower had done nothing to calm his mind even as the hot water helped wash away the evidence of his self-pleasure. The color of her lips in the picture she’d sent from the club, her smile, the way her eyebrow raised slightly; he imagined her as he ran his hand over himself, dreaming it was her hand, his head replaying the moans he’d heard on the video.

Now he was unable to sleep. Rolling over to his side, he picked up his phone, hoping for another text. Nothing.

He saw the time. It was late. He’d called Liv, "his girl." He was going to mess this up.

A knock on his door pulled him out of his thoughts.

Jumping up and struggling into his uniform pants, he rushed to the entrance, expecting it to be Clint or Nat with orders to suit up. Yanking open the door, he was stunned in his tracks. Her gray eyes captured his immediately, taking in his confused expression. They stood, staring for more than a moment but not quite a minute.

The woman he’d been yearning for was standing before him, soaking wet and covered in glitter.

The white t-shirt she had on was completely see through, clinging to every curve she had to offer, her peach bra lending to the appearance that she was not wearing anything but said shirt. She held her flannel shirt and her coat in one hand. Her skin sparkled in the lights of the hall, and she was taking deep breaths making her cleavage glisten under the dampness and the glitter. Steve blinked. Twice.

“Hi.” She demurely whispered, "Merry Christmas!"

A smile crept across his face making his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“I think you should make me your girl.”

“You wanted to talk about it.” He informed her, matter-of-factly, now towering over her frame.

“If you keep talking, you’ll never see me again, Steve.”

Leaning into where she stood, he kissed her, a soft moan escaping with his urgency. "Merry Christmas, indeed."

One hand found her hip and the other exploring the back of her neck, he pulled her closer, engulfing her lips with his mouth. Picking her up, he walked them inside his apartment, slamming the door as she dropped her things. Liv perched on his hips, her left arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding on for dear life while her right hand grabbed fists full of hair, pulling him into her even more. His tongue tasted of toothpaste, hers of bourbon with a bit of ginger and they feasted off of one another until they were both breathless.

The hem of her wet shirt was riding up her back as one of his hands found the smooth skin that ran down her side. It took every ounce of concentration not to crush her into the wall he had them pressed up against, his teeth pulling at her lower lip, biting it just enough to make her moan. The deep dark red of her lip stain was smearing across her cheek and onto the side of her throat as he made his way down her body.

Turning them around completely, he leaned his back on the wall and moved his hands on her, one splayed against her back, holding her on his hips as she ground down on him.

He explored the column of her neck, his hands holding onto her as she moved her hands to the top of his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as she held on. Looking up at her, he saw her eyes flutter shut, her back arching as her breast were pressed together with her arms as she leaned away from his chest. One thrust up of his hips, and she bent back further, his hand holding her steady, her hands running through her hair as she continued her arch, letting her head fall until she could see the rest of the room upside down. A growl thundered from deep in his chest, and she arched even further back. His name escaped her lips in a whisper followed by a softer moan.

He drank in the sight of her straddling him. Her arms over her head, the mounds of her breasts under the dampened shirt, nipples hard and straining against her bra. She rocked her hips twice as her hands ran down the length of her torso, rubbing her breasts as she rolled herself back into his chest. Dropping kisses through the glitter-filled valley, he savored every inch of her body.

With a small push, he righted himself enough to walk her to the counter in his kitchen. One move of his arms and she was sat down on the hard stone, gasping around his mouth at how cold it was on her overly sensitive lady parts. Reaching down, she slipped her boots off.

Still ravaging her mouth, he pulled at the right shoulder of her shirt, exposing more of her soft skin. Moving his mouth to the newly uncovered flesh, he bit into her, enough for her to gasp harder than she had before. “Steve,” she moaned, running her hand over his bare chest and around his back. She could feel every muscle and tendon working, holding her, rocking his form into hers. Alternating, she’d use her nails and the soft pads of her fingers, memorizing each curve and dip. One hand made its way to the waistband of his uniform pants, lifting the material. It gave enough to let her hand reach all the way to his ass, and she grabbed him, lifting his groin into hers.

“I need you. Please,” was all Liv managed to say aloud. Steve reached around and grabbed both of her hands, pulling them above her head. Holding onto her wrists with one hand, he pulled her shirt off in one motion and recaptured her mouth with his. She unclasped her bra, pulled it off between them, dragging her naked chest across his. The sensation bloomed across them both, and he grabbed her ass with both hands, pitching her backward. He has plans to explore her entire body, many times over but now, right now, all he can think about is taking her to her peak and following with his own as he falls.

Running his fingers across her waist, he pulled the fabric covering her legs down, leaving her only in her panties and she spreads her legs for him to explore. Dampness had blossomed under his left thumb as his right hand released the zipper of his pants. He wasn’t wearing his briefs. As the pants pooled around his ankles, Liv took in his appearance in front of her, nude and fully erect. “So sure of yourself, where you?” She warmly smiled as she whispered the words to him. Silently she was thankful for the wetness she felt between her legs. He was not small. At all.

A chuckle escaped before he could answer, “No.”

Thumbing her mound harder, she dropped her head back, forcing her hips higher as she chased her release. The soft sound of fabric tearing rippled through the room, completely exposing her to Steve. For only a moment, he ran his eyes over her entire form.

Pale thighs spread to reveal neatly trimmed hair over her soft pink and damp lips, parting in an invitation to him. Her hips flared to the side, her stomach swelled slightly with soft flesh, nipping back in from her waist and expanding again where her ribcage ran up to her breasts; each one rounded out and a bit more than a handful. Pale skin led to her nipples, and he moved in, dropping a kiss over each one.

With one hand on the back of her neck, he lined his hard cock up to her entrance with the other, rubbing the dampness he found across her lips, paying careful attention to that little bundle of nerves at the top of her slit. Liv whimpered, and a rush of wetness ran onto the head of his dick as he dragged it between her sensitive folds.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Steve whispered into her ear as he slipped into her completely, settling between her legs. He stretched her flawlessly once he was fully seated in the warmth of her body. They both took a moment to enjoy the feeling of being consumed with one another, their breathing the only sound in the room as his eyes found hers.    
Using what self-control she had left, she squeezed him inside her. His moan almost deafened her. She knew once they got going, it was gonna burn hot and fast.

Pulling her thighs around his hips, he gathered her up entirely with his hands and begin to remove himself from her only to return fully in a fluid stroke. She pressed her forehead to his, searching his eyes as her mouth fell open, her hips started bucking up to take his full measure, pushing in and pulling out.

“SHIT… shit shit shit, we forgot protection!” He chuffed at her, coming to a full stop, panic streaking across his eyes.

She grabbed his hips, not letting him move. “I can’t have kids, and I’m clean as a whistle. You?”

The biggest blinding smile broke across his face. “Physically, I can’t have kids either.” Her laugh made her tighten around him, and he closed his eyes, jerking forward with a moan.

“And you're clean, right? The serum?” She asked as his head. He nodded, “The serum.”

“Then fuck me, Steve Rogers, and make me your girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty folks - tell me what you liked, didn't like, or would change. I'm learning as I go and I want this to be really really good for y'all!


	9. I Will Not Ask You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, these summaries are not easy to write out. What I want to say, is "Hey - these two characters we love and ship harder than Fed Ex are finally getting together!" 
> 
> But that seems a bit forward, right? 
> 
> Well, there ya go. 
> 
> note: There isn't a cancer warning, but it's mentioned in this chapter. If you're sensitive, just be aware and proceed with caution.

Steve’s hand glided over the side of her torso, his fingers barely touching her skin.  Goosebumps spread over her ribs, and she laughed lightly.  His thumb felt the different texture, and he pulled her over until she was on her back, looking at him through half-closed eyes, a smile of contentment spreading across her face.  

Running his eyes over her abdomen, he saw what his thumb had sussed out moments before.  Several scars sat peppered across her stomach, each an inch in length, smooth, and paler than any other part of her skin.  

Nipping one with his lips, he watched for her reaction.  “You wanna know what happened.” She whispered as a statement more than a question.  Tucking his hand under hers, she directed it across the other scars on her stomach.  

Steve counted seven total.  

“I”m curious, of course.  But you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”  He reassured her, ducking down to run his lips across one.

She exhaled lightly.  It was her story to tell, and she’d told it so many times before.  To strangers, to family members, to co-workers, she’d explained over and over again why she made the choice she did. She’d make it again.  

“Cancer.  The doctors diagnosed me what they believed to be about six weeks before it would become full blown cervical cancer and, well,  I didn’t want to die.  Not like that.”  There.  Now he knew.  

He paused, taking in the massive amount of information she’d given him in just one brief statement.  “What all did they do?”

“They removed all of my reproductive organs.  I had a complete hysterectomy, an appendectomy, an oophorectomy, and several lymph nodes were biopsied to make sure it hadn't spread.  So, I was gutted like a fish.” She knew she sounded like an understudy reciting lines for a play, but she’d told the story so many times that she knew how to pack the most information into brief answers.  

He looked sad, suddenly.  With his eyes down, he muttered, “Did you want kids?”

Ah, so that was his big question.  Procreation was a touchy topic for people around her; she mostly kept her answer to herself. The truth was, while she loved other people’s children, she never wanted kids of her own.  Whether she was lying to herself or just her ex, she would never know, but after that relationship had ended, she was glad they’d never spawned a tiny human.  Her profession was not kind to the families of those working in it.  How many chefs had she heard time and again sadly explain to their family how they couldn't attend whatever function because of work?  

She sighed. “Nope.” His eyebrows jumped a bit.  

“Really?” He asked with a more excited tone in his voice.

“Really.  It was a natural choice when it came time to decide.  The doctor was explaining all of these different procedures they could do to preserve my fertility when the nurse leaned over and said, ‘She doesn’t want kids.’ Doc smiled and said, ‘Oh that’s good, cause it all needs to come out.’ ”  Closing her eyes, she let some of the memories rush back.  The pain.  The pain during her recovery was crazy.  The whole never having a period thing was well worth it.  

“A month later, I was on top of a table under a robot named DaVinci that was cutting my insides out.  That was, umm, four years ago, I think?  Yeah, it was four years and a few months ago.”  Her eyes found his when she reopened them, but he just let her talk even though she thought she finished… what else was there to say?

Suddenly she was whispering the words, “My mother died from ovarian cancer four months after my procedure.”  Maybe she wasn’t done talking after all.  Rarely did she tell people that part of her life;  Georgia knew because they were working together then, but Liv did not just offer up the fact that, at the ripe old age of 34 she was a motherless child. She closed her eyes, rubbing small circles on the soft skin between his thumb and index finger on the back of his hand.  

Steve hadn’t expected the depths of information she’d volunteered but he appreciated what she was offering.  It connected them on a level that many didn’t understand.  In the last few moments, it became apparent that they’d both lost those closest to them.  

“Do you want kids, Steve?”  She asked hesitantly.  What they had wasn’t much; not yet.  But she was comfortable with him, and that didn’t happen for Liv very often.  If she continued down this path with him at her side, she would fall.  

Rolling to her side and propping her head up on her hand, she took in the sight of his entire body, laid out before her on the bed.  Sure, he was what people considered the epitome of human perfection, all bulging muscles, and pure strength, but that’s not what she saw at that moment.  To her eyes, he looked small and sad.  

“I once wanted that.  A long time ago.  And if I’d made different choices or had gotten to go home after the war, I probably would’ve had the whole traditional family thing.  But no, I do not want kids.  Honestly, it’s not something I’ve thought about.”  He smirked at himself.  As a kid growing up, he’d thought about creating a family, providing for them and protecting them.  Now he was either busy protecting the world or protecting his friends.  There was no time for a traditional family.  

She was smiling at him.  “What?” He asked.  

“We had one of those artichoke talks.” Her eyes flashed at him, and she started trailing a finger up his side, making him squirm just a bit.  

A naughty smile spread across his lips, “Yeah, you’re gonna have to spell that out for me, the non-chef.  We used to boil everything, ya know.”  He closed his eyes as she leaned forward, sprinkling kisses across the line her finger had left.  Running his fingers through her blonde tufts, he brought her face up to his.  Searching his face, she smiled and said, “We just peeled back some of the layers, taking off the rough parts that aren’t edible - the non-fun parts.  Those conversations are what lead to relationships and friendships and partnerships and what not.  You have to go through those to get to the good stuff.”

“Mmmm hmmm… the good stuff. Tell me more about that.” He dropped a kiss on her lips, then onto her jaw, and more leading the way to her ear, where his husky voice whispered, “Or would you like me to show you?”  

Her breath caught in her throat.  “Show me… Dear God, show me…”

This time, Steve took her apart, bit by bit.  

 


	10. Where You Came From

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These two are just feeling their way along. Let's join them, shall we?
> 
> The songs in this chapter are "Spine of A dog" & "Captain America" by moe.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VBU_6VaOiTs
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3haddw1o8RQ

" _YOU SAY POTATO, AND I SAY THREE!_  
_YOU SAY POTATO, AND I SAY THREE…_  
_YOU SAY POTATO, AND I SAY THREE,_ ”

The lyrics blasted through out the kitchen along with Liv and Bent's voices. Prepping potatoes always called for some moe.’s “Spine of the Dog” being blasted in the kitchen and this day was no different.

“ _IIIII_ AM A _PINBALL MACHINE_  
_IIIIIII CAN’T TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN_  
_MYYYYY BELLY BUTTON OR NAVEL_  
_PING PONG POOL CUE OR AN FOOZEBALL TABLE_!!!”

Bentley danced along at the prep sink as he ran cold water into the Cambros that already had cut potatoes in them. Dashing a handful of salt into each container, he then sealed them with their lids. Liv peeled and diced the last potato, added it to a Cambro, and walked it to the other containers to the walk-in.

When she walked out of the cooler, the playlist had changed to the familiar scratching leading into, what was an oddly funny song to listen to, now.

“ _You know what man… I’m gonna say something, man, that I’ve been dying to say man for a long time…_ ” Bentley’ caught Liv’s hand. They started twirling around, doing a cross between a hippie dance and someone having a seizure. They were being silly and singing as loud as they could with each other. It was a time-honored tradition in her kitchens.

“ _Captain America said you gotta be like me_  
_Or you're gonna wind up dead last_  
_At the end of your rope_  
_Flat broke_  
_Down and tired_  
_You sleepy head_  
_Won't you go to bed_  
_Let me run your life_  
_Lies”_

 

A laughing Liv, dancing Bentley, and a somewhat amused Georgia started work on the rest of the jobs, singing along with the other lyrics.

 

“ _Clark Kent ran for president_  
_No one knew about the secrets locked in his head_  
_Friends tried to take his life_  
_Accusations flew_  
_Flew like Kryptonite_  
_Clark still looking good_  
_What you gonna say_  
_To make everything alright_  
_Lies_

 _May be right_  
_May be wrong_  
_I'm in the middle anyway_  
_May be right_  
_May be wrong_  
_I'm in the middle anyway_  
_Stuck in the middle anyway._

 _Buckshot shooter_  
_Had a realm of fun_  
_With a smoking gun_  
_Heard around the world_  
_What a War of the Worlds_  
_What a wonderful way to wage_  
_Suicide_  
_Lies!_  
_Pay your fine_  
_Do your time_  
_Let me run your life_  
_Lies_

 _Captive America read I gotta be like you_  
_With a bubble in your bed_  
_Buzzin' your telephone_  
_Like you're not at home_  
_Home on the range_  
_Bread and corn fed_  
_Won't you got to bed_  
_Let me run your life_  
_Lies_

 _May be right_  
_May be wrong_

 _I'm in the middle anyway_  
_Stuck in the middle_  
_Right in the middle_  
_Dead in the middle anyway”_

 

“STEVE!” Liv exclaimed suddenly. No one had seen the first Avenger standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

“You call that dancing?” He chuckled. “I thought you were possessed when I first walked in.”

Liv’s cheeks flushed bright red. “I’m so sorry, Captain.”

“It’s ok. You’re allowed to blow off a little steam now and then.” Steve told them in his best Captain America voice, as he walked further into the kitchen. “I was wondering if I could speak to you for a moment, chef?”

“Um, sure. Lemme wash my hands, and I’ll meet you in my office. Feel free to take a seat.” She told him, making her way to the hand sink in the corner.

Bentley watched the Captain as he passed, attempting to check out his ass. Liv understood. It was a great ass and those charcoal gray slacks weren’t hurting. She grinned at her dishwasher and walked into her office, shutting the door behind her.

Before she could turn, Steve was behind her, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you today,” he whispered at the cusp of her ear, pulling her back into his chest. He started leaving light kisses down the side of her neck, making Liv moan ever so softly. Luckily, the music in the kitchen was just on this side of concert level, so no one was going to hear them, even if she was screaming his name at the top of her lungs.

“I’m so sorry about that song, Steve. I didn’t even think about the lyrics.” She told him, tilting her head to give him better access to her neck.

“Mhmm… It’s gonna take a bit more than a jam-band song to get my mind off of you right now.” His breath was husky, and it did things to her spine, mainly making it feel like it was melting away. Warm hands wrapped around her waist and she turned her head, finding his mouth with hers. The kiss became frantic as he parted her lips with his tongue. He tasted of coffee, and she was pretty sure she did as well.

The soft moan she breathed into his mouth was just a little telling of what she wanted him to do. What she **wanted** him to do was to lift her up against the wall and fuck her right then and there, in her office, her staff working just on the other side of the door. The bulge in his pants told her he felt the same way.

But this was her job, and it didn’t matter if he was Captain America or the mailroom temp, sex on the clock was pretty much a no-no in her mind. That is unless you're Tony. She was pretty sure that, before Pepper, Tony had spent many hours having sex while getting paid. Guess it’s a perk of being THE boss.

“Steve…” She whispered.

“Liv…” He whispered back, moving his mouth along her jaw.

She stuttered her words. “We can’t. Not here. Not on the clock.” Struggling to regain control of her breathing, she could feel him moving away from her. She turned in his arms, looking into his eyes.

“My quarters aren’t that far away…” he said, fire in his eyes. She smiled at him. “I have work to do.” He sighed and cupped her jaw with his hand, closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. “I know. I just, I, I can’t think straight today. My brain won’t let me concentrate on anything but you.”

“Oh, the feeling is mutual, mister.” She kissed his palm then stretched up to met his lips with hers. This kiss was chaste. She was already testing her resolve; she didn’t want to tease him anymore. “But, I think you should probably try to pay attention to your job. How about I make dinner for just the two of us tonight, in my quarters?”

“You wanna cook for me?” He asked, his eyes searching her face.

“I cook for you all the time, Steve. You like pasta, right?” She smiled.

He returned her smile and pressed her into his chest. “You know the way to my heart.”

“Good, now go,” she said, pushing his chest away from her, “before I ask you to bend me over the desk and have your way with me.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him as he grabbed the doorknob.

“You also know how to kill me and my concentration, it seems.” He chuckled. “What time tonight?”

“How’s 8 pm sound?” She asked, straightening her bandana and chef coat.

“Perfect. See you then.” And he was gone.

*************

Pulling the pan of noodles and guanciale from the stove, Liv added four egg yolks to the pan and started stirring to mix it into the pasta. “Steve, cheese, now!” She huffed at him. Dutifully, the superhero started adding the Parmigiano-Reggiano directly into the pan as the chef was quickly stirring.

“Ok, now just a bit more…” she told him and he obliged, sprinkling a half a handful more of the cheese around the pan. It turns out, Steve can’t cook to save his life, but he makes a great sous chef when given enough instruction, such as, “grate all of this until you get to the rind and put it in a bowl over here.”

Sitting the pan on the counter, she used her tongs to pull the noodles, expertly twisting her utensil around; she piled the bundle into the pasta bowl. Repeating the steps again but with a much larger amount, she made up Steve’s portion. Grabbing the wooden pepper mill, she added a generous helping of fresh-cracked black pepper to each steaming bowl.

“Mangiamo!” She smiled at Steve as he wafted the smell of the bowl to his face.

He took his phone out and snapped a quick picture. “Those are not ARMY eggs.” He smiled at her as he put his phone up, walking around the kitchen island where they’d put the place settings for dinner. Liv poured herself a glass of Banshee Pinot Noir and grabbed him a Spaten Optimator from the fridge, pouring it into a tulip beer glass.

 

They ate in a comfortable silence, save a few moans from Steve that were bordering on erotic. It was good. Nothing too fancy (thanks, Umphrey’s), but it’s depth of flavors satisfied with each mouthful. Once she finally pushed her bowl away, and it was far after Steve had finished, she sat back in her chair.

“I don’t think I can move.” She sighed, draining her wine glass. His smile told her he probably felt much the same.  He gathered their plates and took them to the sink.

“I had plans, to have my way with you tonight, but I think you just neutralized us both with that dinner.” He chuckled, adding a dish to the dishwasher. Glory be to the man who helps clean up in the kitchen. It made Liv’s heart sing.

She slid ever so ungracefully off of her chair and strode over to her record player. Flipping through her collection, she settled on The Bahamas album Barchords. She placed the needle at the beginning of the groves that tracked around the piece of vinyl, she turned and held her hand out to Steve.

He wasn’t far behind her and slid his fingers under hers. “I don’t know how to dance.” A slightly sad look crossed over his eyes. “It’s ok. Neither do I.” She smiled up at him, leading the way with a slow sway.

They slowly rocked around the room, enjoying a private moment to themselves.

“So, what happened on your date?” He asked tentatively.

It confused Liv for a moment. “My date?”

“The guy you laid out on a bar floor Christmas Eve. Where did you know him from?” Steve had wanted to ask her this but was waiting for the right time.

She giggled, and he just looked confused.  

“Steve, I wasn’t on a date. I just said I had plans. Those plans were with my staff." The wrinkle between his eyebrows softened a bit. 

"None of us have family around, so we’ve gone out on Christmas Eve together for the last few years.” She chuckled. “How long have you wanted to ask that question?”

“Only since you told me you had plans that morning. And then, again, when you sent me that picture.” He spoke somewhat softly. 

“Oh, poor guy. I thought it was apparent.” She laughed again. “I’m over the moon for someone else.”

Unfortunately, Steve stiffened in her arms. He pulled his face back from her, his eyes searching for the truth on her face.

“Steve. It’s you. It’s been you for a while now.” Hopefully, her eyes conveyed her seriousness. She didn’t open up for just anyone. Her heart wasn’t easy to win, but he’d taken it. She let her smile fall a bit and moved her hand away from his shoulder to his neck to pull him to her mouth, kissing him so gently, his lips grazing over hers.

“It’s you.” She repeated. His shoulders relaxed as he pulled away from the kiss and gathered her up in a hug that lifted her feet from the floor. Her giggle sounded throughout the room, and he spun her around slowly. His strength still surprised her. When he sat her down, she swore the smile he wore would light up a thousand cities.

“How did you know to take that guy down like that?” He asked somewhat seriously.  
  


“That? Oh, well, at one time, during art school, I thought I wanted to be a professional singer. I’d go to bars and clubs for open mic nights all the time. I saw one too many instances of people not being able to protect themselves and I heard more than a few horror stories of people getting drugged. So, I signed myself up for Kenpo Karate classes.” They’d started dancing again, but he was looking at her as she told her story.

“I choose Kenpo because they like to fight in close spaces. I thought it just made sense.” She finished matter-of-factly.

“Huh.” He muttered.

“Real eloquent, Rogers.” She put her head to his chest, his heart steadily beating against her ear, a small laugh rumbling up from his stomach.

“Sorry. I’m just, you… you surprise me. Almost always.” He whispered. “That also explains why you can sing like that. What stopped you? From becoming a singer?”

“Oh, I um…” She had to think about it. That felt like a different time for her. “It was my life before food. I wasn’t good enough. It just, kinda, fell by the wayside.”

What she didn’t want to say was the real reason. Her "ex" thought it was a silly venture. Thought that she should get a corporate job, pay her bills, and be as boring as possible.

“But you are good enough. I heard you sing. We all did. Didn’t you hear Clint’s reaction?” That line of concern between his eyes grew a bit deeper.

“Yeah, but it’s a hobby. It’s something that brings me joy. It’s something I do to celebrate, to let loose, to blow off steam. It’s not my career.”

“Are you happy?” He asked suddenly. She took a moment.

“Happier than I ever been.” It wasn’t a lie.

“Good.” He planted a kiss on her hairline. “We should probably talk about your protection. I’m afraid being with me is going to paint an awfully big target on you now.”

Liv sighed. She didn’t want to have this conversation. It would not be a fun one for either of them.

“About that…”


	11. I Will Not Ask And...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should they tell? Should they keep this secret for themselves? Do eagles really cry? 
> 
> Eh, who knows. 
> 
> Here's another Chapter in the life of the Chef and the Captain.

It was early morning, and Steve was standing at the windows of Liv’s apartment, drinking a cup of coffee, staring out over the expanse beyond while thinking about everything that had happened within these walls. He was content. The evenings spent with her had turned into mornings. Most mornings she was up earlier than he was but she hadn’t been the times he’d spent the night. He was letting her sleep in while he explored her apartment.

Turning his gaze to her bookcases, he scanned the contents of the shelves. Cookbooks and chef memoirs took up most of the spaces; volumes and titles he’d never heard of spanning the culinary world in ways his brain could barely understand.

There was one set of shelves that caught his eye. “Sisters in Arms,” sat beside well-read copies of “Band of Brothers,” and “Deliver Us from Darkness,” on the bottom shelf. It was an entire collection of books on World War II. All of the books had been well-read, as was apparent from the cracks in their spines and little pieces of paper sticking out between the pages. Someone had studied the 101st and possibly the entirety of the war. The 101st’s story was almost as well known as the 107th’s. Steve was sure they would have been more popular had he not been found and brought back.

The box of vinyl records was on a shelf under a record player. Liv had what could only be called a varied taste in music. Big Band and Swing music mixed in and around Americana, Rap, Jam Bands, Classic and Southern Rock, along with Blues, Jazz, and Classical. He recognized about half of her records, and their tastes were surprisingly similar. Pulling albums out and reading liner notes, he made a mental note to ask to hear her favorites later.

Earlier in the previous evening, he’d seen her list of movies on her Stark Streaming account as they tried to find a film to watch before deciding just to listen to music and talk. It was all a window into what she enjoyed, the things that captivated her, and what she wanted to know more.

The smile that crept over Steve’s face was slow as he realized something. He hadn’t found many people with shared life experiences but now, what with the music she liked, the history she’d studied, the movies that she watched on repeat, how easy it was for him to talk to her. Just to have a conversation with someone who knew who he was talking about, she could be a connection to the past and his present. She would never know what it would be like to live through the Great Depression, but she survived and even thrived during the Great Recession. She was tough and strong and kind and smart above all else. Warmth spread from his gut at this realization. Could he have found someone who was right for him after all of this time?

After having lost so much could he possibly have found something good?

He heard her stirring in her bedroom and then the sound of the bathroom door shutting. Walking to her kitchen, he poured her a cup of coffee and sat it on the counter.

“I will always win the epic bedhead contests, no questions asked.” She mumbled with her eyes barely opened, almost stumbling into her kitchen. She wasn’t wrong, and he chuckled at the odd ways her hair had chosen to stand on end. He found it adorable. 

“At least it’s out of my eye… oh, hey, coffee.” She picked her mug up off the counter and took a tentative sip.

“Hot. Fucking really hot coffee.” She sighed as she licked her lip where she left a dribble. “Why do I always burn my tongue?”

“Impatient?” He asked.

She might be awake, but she wasn’t fully awake. “Probably.” was her only answer.

“We should talk.” He said.

Her shoulders sank a bit, and she hung her head in an overly dramatic fashion. In her best whiny teenager tone, she asked, “Do we have to?”

He chuckled, placed one hand on her bicep and drug her into his chest, hugging her tightly. She turned her head and let it rest flush against his body. Sighing heavily, she stated, “Okay but you have to listen to my side of this.”

It took him back. Of course, he’d listen to her side. Why wouldn’t he?

“I don’t want to go public with us. Not right now.” She pulled away, her eyes searching his for an answer before he could say anything.

Barely missing a beat, he replied. “Not now? Does that mean, keeping it a secret? From everyone? Or just from the public?”

“I don’t think we could keep it a secret from the "spysassins," or Stark, not for long at least. You have a terrible poker face, Rogers. I think the Avengers should probably know, but I’m not sure I want my team to know.”

He paused, “But they know we text. You've shown them.”

“Yeah, I’ve texted with other members of the A-team as well. Granted, none of them have called me beautiful before but…” She chuckled as he raised his eyebrows and blinked in a quick one-two combo that made his cheeks flush.

“I’m much better texting a gorgeous woman than talking to her, apparently.”

“Well, it worked for me. So, I’d say yes, you are.” Picking up her coffee mug, she drained a significant portion of it. 

“Ah, there’s my lifeblood. Wait, you think I’m gorgeous?” She looked puzzled, absent-mindedly trying to calm a fluff of blonde hair over her left ear.

He took her mug from her hands and sat it on the counter, then squared his shoulders in his Captain America stance and stated, “Fucking gorgeous, ma’am.”

“Christ, Steve. I swear I just heard an Eagle scream.” And just like that, they both starting laughing. “Seriously, dude, don’t spring that shit on me when I haven’t had a full cup of coffee yet.”

“So, we wait to tell your team, but my team will know.” He smiled at her.

“I feel the most comfortable with that arrangement. For the time being. Unless something changes.”

Slowly he repeated the words back to her. “Unless something changes.”

 

 


	12. Neither Should You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was her rack. And, maybe, her cooking.

Widow knows. Of course, The Black Widow knows. She’d figured it out before Steve spent the second night with Liv.

“Have you cooked her breakfast, yet? I hear chefs like it when other people cook for them.” Her smirk is all-knowing. Steve doesn’t bother with denying it as he continues to look over the building diagrams spread on the table.

“I have not. I want to perfect my French omelet first.” He calmly states, turning over another piece of paper.

That same smirk on Natasha’s face turns into a warm smile. “I wouldn’t worry about eggs, Steve. Liv is allergic. Her favorite breakfast foods are grits and bacon.” Steve’s eyes raised to meet hers.

“Oh, and you’re welcome for that little tidbit.” She rises out of her chair and leaves the room, barely making a sound.

Now, the team knows, and that includes the Avengers plus Maria, Jane, and Darcy. They’re her friends, and they all keep much larger secrets than a budding romance between The First Avenger and the Chef. Pepper, while no longer with Tony, is still the CEO of Stark Industries and she has an entire office of PR personnel dedicated to the private lives of the team. Their job was to keep anything they want to keep private, well, private. So far, they've done their jobs.

Liv and her crew met everyone while they were all stationed at the Avenger’s Tower in New York. However, after the Ultron situation, as Liv has taken to calling it, they’re all relocated to the Compound upstate. Steve’s been working with Sam and Nat to find Bucky and Liv’s had several articles written about her in various food magazines and notable newspapers.

Tony tried to convince her to compete on “Chopped, ” but Liv vehemently declined, citing how much it reminded her of culinary school. That led to several evenings of Avengers themselves battling it out in the communal kitchen with Liv, Natasha, and Georgia as judges.

Bruce did fairly well, Thor tried to burn the entire building down once, and Tony walked away as the winner both times. Food is all about science in the end. Clint refuses to talk about it, but she’s pretty sure he’s working on his knife skills in his spare time; because that’s not frightening in the least.

The months passed, and some things changed; some things stayed the same. Liv and Steve were able to keep their romance to themselves. They’d both been notoriously private people before deciding to date, so it didn't throw up too many red flags to her staff.

Steve would text her completely inappropriate things at the worst times but working in the heat of a kitchen hid her blushes fairly well. At night, she’d help fulfill whatever her heart or his hard-on desired.

Occasionally they would eat meals with the other members of his team in various apartments throughout the compound. She’d taken to teaching them all basic cooking lessons, which came in handy in the field.

Steve was especially grateful when on one mission all they had access to was a partial shipment of junk food meant to be a decoy for an illegal shipment of weapons. They had a choice of eating their weight in Cheetos, OR they could eat a somewhat nutritionally decent meal Natasha made with the help of a microwave. She was good like that and Liv was proud.

Several things were coming down the pipe for Liv at Stark Industries. One was her being asked to cook for some visiting dignitaries at a private event held at Stark Tower in a few months. The other thing Liv was stupidly excited about was a No Kid Hungry/Share Our Strength benefit she’d pitched to Pepper.

If you’d told her four years ago that she would be cooking for Tony Stark, dating Steve Rogers, and getting ready to raise a ton of money for a great cause, she’d have called you crazy and possibly tried to see if you were still breathing. But here she is, working harder than she ever had before and made her path in the culinary world.

Maybe it was time her team found out. She’d been toying with the idea one day but decided it would be best if they figured out after the charity event. Liv didn’t want their focus pulled away from work and her relationship with Steve could and probably would create a giant distraction.

They talked about what they were doing with a frankness that she adored. Steve was a master tactician, and she was, well, a ball-buster. They both knew the value in what they had and they both, unfortunately, knew how fast it could all go away.

“Liv, we should talk.” He said one night while watching her cook from the breakfast bar.

She placed her knife on the cutting board. “You know, those are the worst words to say to someone with an incredibly sharp knife in their hands, right?” She asked him, her head cocked to the side.

“Wh.. oh, sorry. But how else would you say that you need to talk?” He replied.

She paused. She was not sure how else to ask, honestly, but so many relationships seem to take a turn for the worse after uttering those words, and she’d come to hate them.

“I don’t know.” She thought about it for a moment. “It’s just that that phrase is usually the preamble to the end of a relationship speech. Or, at least in my experiences, it has been.”

“Huh. Really?” Steve honestly looked baffled. “I just thought it was the easiest way to bring up any topic.” God, he was adorable. She smiled at him and started cutting again.

“Of course. You would be the one to turn around the dreaded words into something so useful.” He smiled back at her. “Please, Commander, continue.”

“Well, I’m getting tired of pretending we aren’t together. It’s just, I’m, I’m finally happy, and a lot of that is because of what we’ve become. Part of me wants to scream it from the top of the tower.” She put her knife down again.

“This is the exact opposite of what those words usually mean, in case you’re wondering.” He just looked at her while she continued, “but I think, maybe you’re right. It would be nice not to have this secret to hide from everyone.”

“So, how do we want to go about it? Press release? Tabloid outing?” He asked. She hadn’t given it any thought.

She sighed and paused for a moment. “Let’s run it by Pepper and see what she thinks. But, can we wait until after the No Kid Hungry thingy? I don’t want it to overshadow that. I’ve worked so hard on it.”

Steve walked around the bar, kissed her cheek, and then said, “Of course. And that right there. The wanting to wait a bit longer is a big reason I fell for you.”

Liv blushed. “Oh yeah, you sure it wasn’t my rack?” And with that, she elbowed him in this ribs lightly.

“Well, *cough* those *cough* didn’t hurt.” He said as he made his way back his chair.


	13. Honey Just Put Your Sweet Lips On My Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chefs work well under pressure, right? RIGHT?
> 
> Also, I am a Chef Advocate of No Kid Hungry, so I choose to put that part of my life in this story. The facts that Liv states in her speech were current as of the time of this writing. Visit nokidhungry.org if you want to check out more information. Thanks

Liv was uncomfortable in heels. She was uncomfortable in dresses. She didn’t mind going to Stark’s event at the tower, but she was concerned with keeping hers and Cap’s relationship under wraps. Well, that might not be the whole truth. She was concerned with literally falling on her face walking the red carpet, which Tony had already mandated she do. She was concerned with figuratively falling on her face in front of some of her culinary heroes. She didn’t want to fuck anything up.

Tony had taken an interest in her budding culinary stardom. He wanted to keep her at SI, so he did everything in his power and wallet to do so. Not to mention, Steve seemed much happier, and a bit more relaxed with her around, so it was a win-win situation. Plus, she was content and more challenged than she’d been before. Guess that makes it a win-win-win situation.

Tonight was a charity benefit for No Kid Hungry, and she had no choice but to attend. She’d help develop the menu even if she wasn’t the one cooking it in the kitchens. That wasn’t entirely accurate. She’d been in charge of prepping the event and had been cooking most of the day, or hell, most of the week. Straight up until Pepper’s squad politely escorted her out of the kitchen so they could work their magic on her.

Usually, Liv would feel most comfortable in her chef coat at events. It told people who she was and she only had to cross her arms across her chest for everyone to know to not fuck with her. Tonight she was way out of her element. The last time she wore an evening gown was to her high school prom, but, like many before her, she put her complete faith in Pepper Potts.

The only request Liv had was to look "classic," and the team handled everything else. It took several hours after she showered to let the team "fix" her hair and makeup. They stuffed and secured her ample chest into her bra, attached her seemed stockings to her garter belt, pulled on the smallest thong she'd ever worn in her life, and helped her step into her gown. Finishing touches to her hair and a spritz of her body spray, she slipped on her heels. Lord help her, they were fierce as fuck yet she could still manage to walk and yes, even dance, in them. God bless Virginia Potts.

A Stark Industries liaison was waiting on her as she stepped out of her apartment and guided her through the process of getting to the red carpet since she wasn't showing up by limousine like other guests.

One quick ride in the service elevator later, she was downstairs and walking around the back of the building to the tent receiving guests. Tonight, Liz noticed the red carpet was orange. It was a nice touch.  Flashes of light exploded ahead of her, and she heard a flurry of activity, but there were so many people around she didn't know what caused it until her handler told her that Captain America had just made his way down the red carpet.

An entire kaleidoscope of butterflies seemed to take up residence in her gut at that moment. She wanted to see Steve in his tuxedo. Before she could comprehend what was happening, her guide leaned in and said, "Chin slightly up when you smile," and proceeded to politely shove her onto the carpet, staying a few steps behind her.

Liv did as instructed for the cameras. A few of the photographers knew her name. It caught on, and several more started taking her photo. She'd been teaching Steve a basic waltz step in the evenings, and she joked that his height helped her posture, so even though he wasn't there to hold her, she made sure her shoulders were relaxed, and her back was straight. She'd alternate holding her small clutch with both hands in front of her gown and doing that odd hip thing that helped show off her shoes under her dress. She even did the over the shoulder look she'd seen on gossip blogs. The back of her dress deserved its day in the limelight. Well, what there was to the back of her dress, that is.

Her handler caught her eyes, gave an approving nod, and then guided her over to several reporters who were eager to talk to her. Liv was glad they'd helped her prep because the questions were easy to answer and she made her way into the event after only a few minutes. Once inside, her handler gave her the run down of who the party photographers were, where the SI employee lounge was set up, and a few other details to get her through the evening. Then, she was on her own.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling and suddenly she needed to pee, but once she stepped further into the lobby of the tower, she gasped. It was gorgeous. Every bit of it decorated in a subtle way that led them to the grand ballroom. For just a moment, she allowed herself to take in the spectacle. Tony had spared no expense and Liv hoped they raised a ton of money for No Kid Hungry.

Making her way past the ballroom and into the food staging area, she quickly found Georgia amidst all of the chaos. A whistle echoed through the room as Bentley caught sight of her.

"Dang, chef... you sure do clean up nice." He told her with a fake Southern accent and a smile plastered on his face.

Chuckling a bit, she replied, ”Thanks. Thanks for that, Bent. Georgia, um, could I borrow you a moment?"

Her sous chef followed her into the hall and down a bit until they got to the bathroom.

"Uh, I need your help while I pee." The chef blushed as she asked. They were close, but this was new territory.

Georgia only looked amused. "Sure. Um, how do we do this?” She was taking in the chef’s dress and started coming up with a plan.

They finally settled on her stepping completely out of her gown, doing her business while Georgia diligently held the dress up, so it didn't touch the floor, and then her stepping back into the gown. It worked surprisingly well, but Liv made a mental note not drink too much, because, man alive, it was a giant pain in the ass.

Georgia returned to the staging room with Liv. The chef quickly glanced over each plating table and spoke to the kitchen leads. The finalized one last minor plating change with Georgia and then made her way into the grand ballroom.

It looked like something straight out of a movie. As Liv walked into the room, she saw where Pepper was greeting guests along with her assistant. Making her way towards her during a break in the line, she greeted her boss.

Pepper's eyes lit up when she saw her. "Chef! You look divine!" And then she whispers into her ear as she hugs her, "Has Steve seen you yet?"

Liv shook her head “no” before she replying, "You know you should take credit for this happening. Your dream team must practice voodoo. I’m pretty sure they’ve magicked my boobs into place!”

Pepper made her do a small twirl, squealed a bit, and then gave her another hug.

“How’s the food looking?” the Stark CEO asked.

“I just checked on them, and things seem to be ready. I guess we shall see.” And with that, Liv let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Pepper smiled at her.  
Sean Brock has been seated a few tables away from you. You should drop by for a moment.” Pepper informed her.

Liv’s heart stopped for a moment. Chef Brock was one of the foremost Chef’s in the world, and he specialized in Southern Cuisine. At that point, Pepper was turning to greet the other incoming guests, and Liv felt like she might melt into the floor.

Slowly she wandered the back perimeter of the ballroom for a moment, gathering her thoughts, taking in the sights, smelling the food she’d helped create, and listening to the awesome sounds of Scott Bradlee & The Postmodern Jukebox.

Natasha found her and brought her to the table with the Avengers and their guests, but Steve was nowhere. They’d talked about it, and everyone was on board with helping them seem like they were just friends, but Liv wanted to see him in his tuxedo.

Taking a seat and an hors d’oeuvre that a server was passing out, she sat at her appointed place around the table. Darcy sat next to her, and together they scooped out the crowd, trading gossip, and observational humor about other attendees. Liv drained one cocktail Clint had brought her and felt a little more at ease.

“How is this my life?” She asked as a modelesque brunette with an equally handsome gentleman walked by their table.

Darcy stirred her drink and took a sip, her eyes taking in their surroundings. “Tell me about it. It’s def not normal. Funny thing, we are the two most ‘normal’ out of our group, if you think about it. No superpowers, no abilities, just good ole working folk.” Liv laughed, and Darcy followed.

“At least we’re not boring.” As she stood to get a refill, the sight in front of her stole her breath. At that moment, a small circle of people down a few tables opened up, and Liv saw Steve for the first time that night.

He had his head bent down listening to an elderly gentleman in a WWII uniform. The guy finished his statement and Steve raised his head, giving a good hearty laugh at whatever anecdote the soldier had offered. Liv noticed how relaxed he looked; how comfortable he seemed even though she knew he hadn’t been excited about having to attend. Her heart was suddenly pounding in her chest.

As if she’d called to him, his eyes looked directly at her, and his smile faded. Mouth still open, jaw slackened, he stared, not blinking, and not looking away. Several members of the circle he was in followed his gaze to her. One of the gentlemen mumbled something and tilted his head to smile at her. Only moments passed but Liv felt like it was an eternity. She just wanted him to smile.

Seconds later, he was excusing himself from his company, and striding across the room to her, the left side of his mouth starting to turn up. Her glass disappeared from her hands, but she didn't know what happened to it.

A few feet in front of her, he came to a stop. They both just stood there as Darcy muttered, “Awk-ward” under her breath at them. Liv chuckled slightly, and Steve’s replying smile exploded over his face. All of the super tiny lines that creased around his eyes came out, and she might have giggled at him. His next movement floored her.

“Chef.” He murmured to her. Reaching out, he took her right hand in his and brought her fingers to his lips, barely kissing them. Had ANYONE else in the room tried that move, it would’ve been creepy as fuck.

“You are stunning tonight.”

Liv swore she heard someone behind her swoon. Hell, she almost swooned herself but she was listening to that little voice in her head telling her to “keep it together.”

“Captain.” She replied softly, lowering her eyes for a moment. There was movement around her and sounds of people still in the room, but she could only see him.

“May I escort you to the bar for a drink?” he asked, pulling her hand into the curve of his elbow and turning slightly.

“It would be my honor.” Darcy held her empty glass back up to Liv and Steve took it.

“Hey, Darcy.” He halfway greeted their friend, but his eyes were still on Liv.

Darcy answered him somewhat half-assed. “Hey, Cap.” Quickly, her attention was back on her phone.

The dress Pepper’s team picked out for her was crimson red, with a high neckline that ran parallel to Liv’s collar bones. At her shoulders, the fabric slightly gathered before it cascaded down the sides of her back, joining just at the point that Steve knew to be her most sensitive. Her blonde hair was a mess of curls piled over her left ear with a diamond-crusted barrette courtesy of Mr. Stark, and she wore a pair of diamond drop earrings Tony had gifted her after a particularly trying dinner party she’d helped put on with some very picky eaters. Her lipstick matched her dress, and her typically gray eyes were the color of a stormy blue sea.

They were walking towards the bar before Liv realized what was happening. Steve held his hand lightly at the small of her back once they approached the bar, and she was more aware of the open design of her dress than ever. She was also more aware of him than she’d been since they’d started seeing one another. It felt like her skin was on fire wherever he touched. It was going to be a long night of pretending just to be friends, she thought to herself.

“I can’t stop touching you,” Steve whispered into her ear. Liv casually tossed her head back, as if he’d just told her the funniest joke on the planet. She let her right hand lay on his chest for a moment and stretched up to his right ear.

“You’re making me blush, Captain.” She whispered. He smiled down at her, “Yes, but it’s such a lovely color on you.” Liv wondered if her every-so-tiny thong had just caught on fire. 

Not that she wanted to, but they decided to head back to their table and sit in their designated seats. Steve took his seat across from her. She couldn’t decide if that made her happy or sad. Possibly she was relieved because she was not sure she would be able to keep her hands off of him for the entire evening.

The food appeared all around them; five courses of Southern-inspired cuisine that featured Georgia Grown ingredients. It was what some considered "Elevated Comfort Food."

The meal was well received, and she was proud of her team for getting everything out on time. The evening then turned to the fundraising part, and she hoped everyone was just drunk enough to donate a ton of money.

Tony took the dais and said some great words about the event, inviting people to bid on the silent auction items. He even made her smile when he announced the donation from the Stark Fund for an additional $25,000. Before she knew what was happening, he was talking about her. Steve smiled at her. Then, she was being called up to say a few words with him.

She shot a look at Pepper who in turn looked about as startled as she did. No words prepared, no notice, no nothing; she would have to wing it. Slowly she stood up, placing her napkin in her chair, and she made her way around their table. Steve stepped up to help her ascend the small staircase to where Tony stood.

“And let’s give a warm welcome for the mastermind behind tonight’s feast!” He said as he greeted her with a warm hug.

“Break some eggs, chef.” He whispered in her ear.

“Oh, I’m gonna break something, that’s for sure.” She whispered back, enjoying the slightly amused look on his face. He squeezed her arm and took his place to the side of her

Stepping up to the microphone, she took a deep breath and centered herself, allowing a smile to bloom on her face.

“I’d personally like to thank y’all for coming to this event this evening. I would also like to thank Stark Industries for taking a chance on me. I would like to thank the indomitable Pepper Potts for a guiding hand and a listening ear when I proposed this event. And I would love to thank my team, my brigade, who are some of the hardest working, most badass cooks I’ve ever met. Without them, I am nothing. Y’all, please give them a round of applause for that spectacular meal you just enjoyed!”

Liv paused to let the deafening applause die down.

“I have a quote in a frame on my bookshelf that I look at every day. It says, ’People who love to eat, are always the best people.’ It’s a Julia Child quote.

I’ve thought of it as a great description of family meals that would last for hours, full of laughter and story-telling across generations. I thought of it as a great description of those of us with giant appetites for what the world brings to our doorstep. I’ve thought of it describing those who appreciate grand cuisines from around the world, of those who know all of the rare ingredients, and those who understood how flavors play together on one’s tongue.

I never once thought about how much everyone on this planet loves to eat, even when they can’t. But I was wrong. It may have been a sin of omission, a sin that I’ve not only committed personally but one that I was the victim of once.  And I was wrong not to remember.” She paused because her brain was making her relive that pain.

“There are those of us who acknowledge the pain of going to bed more hungry than we were when we woke up, knowing that the next morning will not bring food to our mouths.

You may not think about it often. Consider yourself lucky if you’ve never wondered where your next meal is going to come from, but I ask you to think about this, the next time you purchase any food for yourself.

At a time in my early adult life, I realized I’d eaten one meal a day for two weeks. That meal, each day, was a pack of mass-produced ramen. I was too proud to ask for help, working long hours, and trying to go to school. That was until a phone call from my mother made me completely dissolve into tears. Hunger changes you and she noticed. She asked when the last time I’d had real food was and when I couldn’t tell her, she took action. Suddenly, I was not alone in my tears.

I was lucky. My mother wired me money almost immediately, even though she didn't have much to spare. I ate a real meal that night for dinner.” Liv stopped as dabbed the tear that had formed on the lower lid of her right eye.

Regaining her composure, she continued, “Not everyone is as fortunate as I was. Not everyone can just make a phone call and have food ready for them within the hour. Not everyone has that safety net. I did, and I vowed that night that, if I were ever able to help, I would.

Close to 49 million Americans live in households that lack the means to get enough nutritious food on a regular basis. As a result, they struggle with hunger at some time during the year.

This number includes 13 million children. 13 million children do not get enough food to grow and play and learn and do all of the things children are suppose to do. 13 million children, our nation’s future, suffer through the pains of hunger. That’s close to a quarter of households in metropolitan areas with kids that suffer from hunger.

It makes my heart hurt.

But, we can change that. Right now, right here, you and I can change that. Ten dollars can provide up to 100 meals for a child who is still facing hunger.” She paused as some started clapping in the audience.

“Children do not ask to go hungry. Children do not have the means to provide for themselves. Parents of children are working themselves practically to death, and even then, it’s a struggle.

Let’s help.

Let us take care of one another. Let us be the change we wish to see.

Thank you very much!”

And with that, she took a step back. The small smattering of applause grew until the entire room erupted as people took to their feet. Liv placed both of her hands together in front of her and took a small bow of thanks to the audience. She smiled out across the room and had to dab her eyes again as tears threatened to overtake her once more.

Tony took her elbow to escort her off the stage, asking “You already had that ready, didn’t you? Surely you didn’t just come up with that on the fly.” Steve was at the bottom of the stairs, holding out his hand for her to steady herself on as she descended. She turned back to Tony, “No, I didn’t have that ready. I lived that… and don’t call me Shirley.” Both men laughed at her as Liv just smirked, raising one eyebrow.

Tony finished speaking, the band started playing, and people started moving towards the dance floor.

Back at her table, Liv encountered more people than she had anticipated. She greeted them and talked to as many as she could, encouraging them to donate and or volunteer. Steve stayed in her orbit, seeming to just talk to other guests but she could feel him sticking near her. Luckily, other members of their team were nearby as well. Things were going smoothly.

Sean Brock introduced himself to Liv, and she almost fainted on the spot. He told her how impressed he was with the work she was doing as well as the dinner. She was pretty sure she just stood there smiling and nodding like an imbecile.  Hopefully not. Hopefully.

“Next time you're down South, drop in so we can share a Bourbon and talk shop.” He told her as Steve stepped closer to her with a concerned look on his face. "It was a pleasure, Captain Rogers." The chef shook Steve's hand.

“I would love to, Chef.” She answered. They exchanged contact information. Mr. Brock said his goodbyes, turned, making his way to the bar, and Liv grabbed at Steve’s lapel, his hand cupping her elbow.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, doubly concerned now.

“Do you KNOW who that was? That was Sean Brock. THE Sean Brock. He’s like, like, I don’t know what I'm trying to say, but he’s one of my culinary idols!” Her voice was close to squeaking.

Steve chuckled. “I’ve never seen you star struck. It’s adorable!” Liv thwapped his chest with the back of her hand. “Hush, you.”

They turned to talk to Sam and some other attendees while Liv got better control over her nerves.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Please help me welcome Haley Reinhart to the stage.” The voice over the microphone announced. As the blonde singer made her way to the stage, Steve turned to Liv.

“Would you do me the honors?” And he held his hand out.

“Of course, Captain!” She answered, taking his lead to the dance floor, excusing them from their conversations. Surrounded by some other couples, she could feel everyone’s eyes on hers.

Steve was used to people watching him, but he focused on her at that moment. He placed her hand he’d been holding on his shoulder, and let his hand drift to the center of her back. Their other hands clasped together, held shoulder level, just as Natasha had shown them one evening when the dancing went further than Liv’s basic knowledge from her days of taking cotillion. Liv rested her shoulders and let Steve take the lead as a sultry version of Radiohead’s “Creep” started.

“I’m not the only one taken with you this evening.” He whispered to her, pulling her a bit closer while executing a nearly perfect left box turn. The smell of his cologne made her weak in the knees.

Slowly, as the song progressed, she felt her body pressing harder into his.

“I promise I’m not the only one wanting what’s hiding under that uniform, soldier.” She felt his chuckle more than heard it. Then she caught herself looking up at his face, her vision not able to see anything going on around them.

"Do you know what this dance means to me?" He asked her suddenly solemn. Liv shook her head because right then she could not find the words to describe how she felt.

"I never got that dance with Peg." He whispered.

"I know." She replied quietly.

"I'm not sure, but I think she'd be happy for me... for us. She'd like you. They cut the two of you from the same cloth." Steve said warmly.

Right then, at that fixed point in time, he completely consumed her. The food, her speech, the people, none of that was on her mind.

Steve slightly shrugged his shoulder, catching her attention. “Hey, I didn't ruin the night, did I?”

“What? No! I… You, you make me so happy, I just don't know how to tell you.” It was all she could say. Lowering his head closer to hers, he took that moment to twirl her around the dance floor. She wanted to take him to her quarters and wrap her arms around him, hugging him, and hold onto his strength until the sun came up.

They were so engrossed in each other they hadn’t realized the dance floor had mostly cleared out except for Natasha dancing with Clint, Sam swaying with Maria, and the two of them.

Most eyes were on the Chef and the Captain. And then, as the song started to end Steve relaxed out of their hold, letting one hand brush the side of her face, he leaned down to kiss her. He kissed her properly, on the mouth, and though it was chaste, it was there. She was so used to his kisses that she placed her hand on his neck for a moment before releasing him. When they looked at each other again, they smiled, and he turned to walk them to their seats.

Flashes from cameras and a light applause followed them off the floor as it dawned on Liv what had just happened.

Well, crap.


	14. We Should Just Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi-yo! Welcome back, y'all. Sorry, it's taken a bit. Starting that new job and such. 
> 
> This is un-beta'd, soooo, you've been warned.

 

Pepper released a statement. 

 

“Captain Rogers and Executive Chef Olive Sullivan confirm that they are dating exclusively.  Chef Sullivan is Tony Stark’s Executive Chef and is over the food service program at Avenger’s Tower along with additional Stark properties throughout the world.  Captain Rogers is a member of the Avengers Initiative and a World War II Hero. 

Any comments or questions can be directed to Stark Industries CEO Pepper Potts’ office.”

Other than that, they’ve said nothing to the media as a couple. The public has had plenty to say about them, that’s for sure. Liv had deleted most of her social media accounts when she started at the tower, leaving only her professional Twitter and Instagram available.  Neither showed much besides pictures of food she either made or wanted to eat.  Not terribly exciting for those trying to find any morsel about their relationship.

But boy howdy, did people dissect the hell out of that one photo.  

“Steve, do me a favor.  Don’t read the comments.” She directed across the kitchen to him later one afternoon.  

Looking up from his book he asked, “What comments?”

“Any of them.  Hell, ALL of them.  Just don’t read them.  I accidentally saw one.  It ain’t cute.”

Of course, he pulls his phone out.  “What were they saying?” Liv tried to swat it away as best she can but come on, like she could get anything out of Captain America’s hands.  His arm span is like that of a pterodactyl compared to hers.  Steve lowered his arms to trap her and pull her into his lap.  “What do you think they’d pay for a picture of this?” He asked teasingly.

“A picture of what?” 

“A picture of you in my lap, wearing those leggings that do that thing to your butt that I like, and me with two-day old scruff.”  He whispered into her ear as he rubbed said scruff into her neck, making her giggle.

“Steven.” She purred, arching her back away from his chest.  

“Mmmm?” He murmured back, running his hands around her waist to pull her back into his torso.  Liv sighed as she turned her head to see him over her shoulder.  He nuzzled his nose into her cheek then started leaving small kisses along her jaw.  Liv smiled.  She was happy, at that moment, and she was able to forget the horrid things she’d read about herself just minutes ago. 

“So, what did the comments say?” Steve asked again.

Her happy moment was up.  She knew the moment Steve heard some of the comments things would change.  Readying herself for a small battle, she read one to him.  

“ ‘Never trust a skinny chef!’ was the last one I read.” She told him quietly.

Feeling him sigh behind her, she waited.  

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He murmured.  “Can you show me where you read that?”

“Steve.” She warned.

“What?  I just want to see that one comment.  I’m not gonna lecture anyone on politeness, I promise.”  She kinda didn’t trust him but pulled her phone off the table and opened her Twitter app.  Scrolling past a thousand mentions and tweets she found the one she was talking about; it was from a personal account that neither of them knew.  

Steve memorized the handle and just looked at her.  “I wish they could see you as I see you.” 

“You’re such a good man.  But I don’t want anyone else to look at me the way you do. What we have here, what we’re doing.  I just want it to be for us.”  She said staring into his eyes.  For a moment she thought she might cry, but that passed.  Lightly he kissed her.

“Me too.  Just us.” He rubbed her nose with his and smiled.  

“Gah.  Stop being so handsome, or I’ll never get lunch made.” She teased him as he let her up off of his lap.

“Oh, lunch.  Yay!” He half-joked, picking his book back up. 

Liv wandered back into the kitchen and started the bacon frying.  She gathered the bread, tomatoes, mayo, lettuce, and bread all together by her large cutting board.

 

**WHAM!**  

 

Steve jumped up looking in the kitchen at Liv.  “…The hell was that?” He asked.

“Uh, the lettuce?  It’s the fastest way to pull the core out of iceberg?” She answered when she realized she’d legit scared the crap out of Captain America with a vegetable.  

Settling back into his seat, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Geez, warn a fella, would ya?”

She laughed and started rinsing the veggies.  “This just in, Captain America scared shitless by a head of iceberg lettuce… details at 11!” She proclaimed in her best broadcaster voice.

“Ha ha ha, hilarious.” He turned his attention away from her.  Continuing, she made them both BLT sandwiches and started setting the table when her phone vibrated.  She ignored it.  Then it continually started vibrating with notifications.  She chooses to ignore it.

“Hey, gorgeous man, lunch is ready.  Do you want chips?” Liv asked bringing the sandwiches to the breakfast bar.

“Yes, please.” Was his answer as he grabbed refills for their drinks.  She noticed his ears were red. 

Sitting beside him, she bowed her head while he said, Grace.  

“This smells delicious.” He proclaimed picking up one-half of one of his sandwiches and taking a bite.

“You say that about all of the meals I cook.” 

He munched on his mouthful until he could swallow enough to speak, “It’s cause it’s twue.” 

“Did you just say the word, “twue”?  Like, with a “w”?”  She laughed.

Taking a sip of his drink, he finished, “Maybe.”  Right then, she saw her phone screen scrolling through notifications. 

“I think I’m going to turn those off.  Now that the public knows about us…” Her voice trailed off as she caught one of the notifications.  “Steve.” 

“Wha?” He wouldn’t look at her, and she knew why. 

“What did you do?” She asked, knowingly. 

“No idea what you’re talking about.” He mumbled through another bite of sandwich.

She opened her twitter and pulled up his account.  

 

 

**Steven G. Rogers** @Rogers4Real

B/f serum I was 95lbs & wanted nothing more than for people to see the real me. Love is love. Also, my girl is gorgeous. **#hugachef #luckyman**

 

 

 

Liv could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Sitting her phone down, she turned to look at him, searching his face. 

Finally, she spoke. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.  I don’t have to do anything.  But I wanted to.”  He told her, sitting back in his chair.  “You didn’t know me before, Liv, not back then.  Peggy saw the real me when no one else did, and I loved her for it.  I think you see the real me now, not just this body that was given to me.”

Without thinking, she reached up and ran her hand around the back of his neck.  “I think, I hope, since that day in the cafe, I’ve seen the real you.  And not for nothing but this body is the real you as well.”  She just smiled at him for a moment, appreciating the red tinge still on his ears.

“Did I ever tell you about Kurt?” She asked him.  He shook his head no.

“So, I met Kurt in 8th grade.  I wrote my number on his hand in permanent marker, cause, you know, I was smooth.  We “talked” as 8th graders do but we never dated.  I knew he had a thing for me, but I wasn’t interested like that.”  Liv stood up and started pacing, talking with her hands as she moved around.  

“Cut ahead about 15 years, and I’m at a movie with a girlfriend.  Low and behold, Kurt is the manager at this theater.  He asks for my number again, and I give it to him.  We wind up talking every night.  He’d let me watch movies before they came out and we’d stay up late at his apartment, recording music.  He’s a phenomenal musician.  Can play just about any instrument, has a great voice, just amazing.” Steve just sits back, his eyes soft yet tracking her every move. 

“And I knew that he was in love with me.  And I wanted to be in love with him.  He was good to me.  He’s a great man.  Even though we had decent physical chemistry, it just didn’t feel right.  I felt like I would have to force it.  It was an incredibly powerful feeling to have over someone.  Knowing they’d do ANYTHING for you, even if you didn’t feel the same way.”  

Liv stopped for a moment, trying to figure out how to say the next part. 

“Here’s the other thing.  Kurt was the same height as I was and weighed about 125lbs.  While he wasn’t as small as you were before the serum, he was a good bit smaller than me.  And I fought with myself, thinking that I didn’t want to be with him because I could physically overpower him.  I was afraid I didn’t want to be with him because of how others would see us.  I felt guilty because that would be a dumb reason not to let myself be happy and in love.  

But then I realized the real reason.  Kurt let me run over him.  I saw that he literally would’ve just let me do anything and he would never disagree, never push back, never stand up for himself.  I needed something, someone stronger than that.  Not physically stronger, but someone strong enough to butt heads with me.  I need someone to tell me to sit the fuck down when I get all high and mighty.  I need someone with a backbone.  I needed someone who would challenge me along with wanting to make me happy.  And I needed to feel comfortable and not forced into something.  

Had I known you, Steve, before the serum, I would’ve wanted to date you.  That’s something I’m sure of, but I’m glad you barreled over my server that day in the cafe.  I’m glad I got to meet you when I did.”  She’d walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.  “Cause you’re fucking amazing.”

Steve placed one hand across her arms and turned into her arms.  “Yeah, well you’re pretty fucking amazing as well, ya know.”

 

————————

 

“Steve…” She barely was able to groan his name. 

He pulled his face up from between her legs.  Liv’s breathing was heavy, the remnants of her orgasm splashing through her body.  He watched her chest move up and down, exaggerated in its motion by her gasping for breath. A crooked grin took up the lower part of his face, and he rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth.  

“Yes, ma’am?”  He answered sardonically.  She reached out for him with her hands as he slowly he kissed his way back up her body.  “I want you, in me, now.” She directed.

Dragging her legs up and around his waist, she opened herself even further to him. He situated his torso over her, sliding into her wet folds with little resistance.  He could still feel the leftover flutters from her previous orgasm but she was arching her back, and he knew she was about to take him along with her to the edge of the next one.  

He buried his head into her shoulder, alternating between kissing and nipping at her soft skin on the side of her neck.  The rough sound of her voice in his ear, telling him how good he felt, how she loved the way he stretched her, how Steve reached all the right spots drove him into a familiar pattern that he knew she loved.  Fingernails scratched against every muscle on his back as she held on to him.

“Christ, Steve, I’m gonna to come again.” Liv huffed.  

“Good.” He whispered back as well as he could.  His orgasm wasn’t far away, but he wanted her to go first, again.  Steve took pride in Liv having as many little deaths as she could during their moments together.  

Her breath caught, and he felt her tighten around him. 

“Come for me, doll.” With those words, Liv released with a small cry, writhing under his body, squeezing onto his cock for all she was worth.  

Steve knew she might have a bruise on her hip where his hand gripped onto her for dear life, but it wouldn’t be the first time.  His other hand ripped part of the bedding under Liv’s shoulder as he came, hard, pushing himself completely in until he was seated flush against her body, filling her.  

Steve laid back, breathing heavy, holding onto Liv.  A light sheen of sweat visible across both of their bodies.  Slowly he removed himself from between her legs and rolled onto his back, pulling her into his side, and kissing the top of her head.  She grabbed her sleep shirt and used it to wipe him off and then herself.  Lazily she pulled the comforter over their legs.  He was warm enough that simply laying her head on that corner of his chest where his shoulder connected to this collar kept her close enough to be comfortable. She was listening as his heart thrummed in his chest, steady and continuous.  Sighing at him absentmindedly stroking her hair, she let her eyes close.  If she weren't careful, she’d drool across his torso as she slept.  

“Steve?” She asked barely above a whisper.

“Liv?” He answered.

“You’ve never called me ‘doll’ before.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She whispered.  “I think I like it.”

He chuckled. “Good.” 

Moments later, he muttered, “Liv?” 

“Steve?” She chuckled in response at their mutual silliness.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you.” He blurted out, softly, surprising himself. 

She turned to look him, her eyes smiling.  “Oh good.  Glad I’m not alone in this endeavor.” 

He turned on his Captain America USO Tour 1,000 watt smile at her response.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Mr. Smooth.  I’m pretty sure I fell for you a long time ago.”  Liv sighed.  “But feel free to keep telling me that any time you want to.”

“Liv?” He asked, again.

“Steve?” Liv answered.  

“I love you.”

“I know.”

 


	15. Like Real People Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of this, a little bit of that... and what?

“What’re we listening to?” Steve asked walking into her apartment and leaning his shield against the wall of her entrance hallway. The smell of garlic and something spicy fills his nostrils as he continues into her loft, turning the corner at the fridge.

Standing over an All-Clad 5D sauté pan filled with onions and sausage, Liv poured a bit of white wine into the pan causing a rush of steam to escape into the air. His mouth started to water at the addition of the alcohol smell cooking off.

Looking over her shoulder as he walked up behind her, she replied. 

“Oh, this is my ramen playlist.”

“Ramen. Playlist? This dish doesn’t look like Ramen to me.”

“Ha! I made a playlist when I had friends from out of town for scratch-made ramen. I took songs from all of their favorite artists and created a three-hour playlist.” Liv reached over to grab some chicken stock, adding it to the pan, stirring everything together. 

“Where were your friends from? Were they all from Macon?” He’d kissed the back of her head and drifted over to lean against the counter, spotting a strainer full of mussels in the sink and a large loaf of crusty bread beside their place settings. 

After the heady mixture had started bubbling, Liv turned the heat down and grabbed the mussels by the handful, carefully adding them to the mix. “Actually, yes they were... or are? Not sure how to say that but they still live in Macon.” She added the last handful and carefully sat the lid back over the pan, cocked to the side to let a tiny mote of steam escape. “Hey grab those plates… dinner’s almost ready.” 

Reaching into the cabinet, he pulled out two plates and two red wine glasses. Picking up the wine bottle from the bar, he asked her, already knowing the answer, “Garnacha?” 

“Pfft no… Pinot please.” She laughs.

“But I thought this was a Spanish-inspired dish?” He teases her.

“Well look at you, Mr. Culinarian. You’re a fast learner.” 

“Yeah, well see, there’s this dame who’s a fantastic teacher.” He reaches over to gather her into his arms. “Plus, she’s hot. I have to impress her.” His accent shows through, and he dips his head to nibble at her neck while she mock-struggles to escape his grasp. 

Not one to be left out, Liv breaks out her Southern lilt. “You can keep on with the flattery, Mr. Rogers until the cows come home but if you cause me to overcook this dinner, it’s gonna burn my biscuits.”  
Steve groaned into her ears as his hands traveled to grab her behind her thighs and lift her onto the counter. Capturing her mouth with his lips and eliciting a moan, there was no mistaking what her accent did to him. 

Breaking free from his kiss, Liv managed to squeak out, “Steven, what about the mussels?”

“I’ll show you what muscles can do.” Was his reply as he ground his hips into hers. 

She tossed her head back as he started his own feast on her neck, her arms barely able to hold onto his neck. 

Reaching into his hair, she grabbed on and pulled a little more that what he would consider enjoyable. “But seriously, what about the mussels?” She asked, staring at him.

He slumped a little when she released his head and helped her down, delivering a scorching kiss that left her a little more than breathless. 

Putting her right fingertips to her sternum, she sighed the words, “Oh my!” Steve chuckled at her impression of Annie Savoy in Bull Durham. 

Steve poured their wine and Liv served up the perfectly cooked spicy mussels with chorizo and crusty bread. 

Sitting down and taking a moment for each of them, they start eating the meal. Liv only gets to cook dinner once or twice a week for the couple, if said couple is lucky. More often than not, it’s whatever they're serving in the dining room, takeout, or fast-food.

He takes the first bite and makes an almost obscene groan as he chews his food. Liv smiles.

“Jesus, Sullivan… this might be better than foreplay.” He mumbles after a sip of wine. 

“Who says it’s not part of the plan?” She asks as she licks a small drop of wine from the side of her glass. Steve stops eating and stares at her. When she smiles, he smiles back, and they continue their dinner.  
“Tell me more about where you're from.” He asked after taking another bite of food.

Oh, um, where to start. 

———————————————————————

 

 

Liv has never asked too much about Bucky. She wants Steve to tell her whatever he wants her to know, as organically as possible and in his own time. All of her failed previous relationships are a testament to that. She knows she can’t force information; she shouldn’t ask for more than he was willing to give her. At least, not where Sergeant Barnes is concerned. 

The longer they’re together, the more he shares, and vice versa. The understanding that he and Sam would follow leads where ever and whenever they came in was only matched by the freedom she was afforded to pursue her culinary career. Being busy and fulfilled in her work, Liv conceded his drive, knowing he had to find his friend. Separation from him wasn’t great, but she was okay with it. 

Months pass, their lives lived, and suppers served. 

Some nights, as she heard his breathing level out into sleep, she would watch his eyes twitch behind their lids. She often wondered if he was reliving the past or envisioning a future. There were few dreams she held as dear as her future with Steve. Even if she didn’t know what would happen to them or how their lives would entwine with others, she felt as if their connection was a bond. It’s as if it were something so sacred, something they’d both been blind to at first that it has now burned into each of their hearts with the brightness of a star, carrying with it the burning flame of life. 

If Liv were ever to part from Steve for good, she knows that her life been changed by their relationship and that she may well and truly never love like this again. She’s ok with that. 

That she hadn’t noticed him stirring beside her nor had she noticed that she had tears silently slipping from her eyes was a testament to the depth of her thoughts. It startled her when his thumb rubbed one across her cheek before he gently turned her face towards him. 

“Hey… you ok?” he mumbled through sleep-drenched speech.

Liv smiled and kissed his nose. “I’ve never been better.”

“Why the tears?” he asked as he propped himself up on one elbow, letting the lights from the outside world bath over his torso, the short blonde hairs on his head sticking out from the side he’d been sleeping.

Liv took a moment. Did she explain her thoughts? Or did she tell him another truth?

In a moment she decided.

“I’ve never been loved or in love like this before, Steve. You make me happy.” She breathed out faster than she’d like. 

Swiftly his eyes shifted their gaze between hers, looking for something. Liv's breath escaped her nose as she cracked the smallest of smiles at him.

“Marry me.”


	16. I Knew That Look, Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who said that? Who said that? I said that... what in the world, pearl?

Liv has prepared for many stressful situations throughout her life. She was ready for her mother’s death. She was ready for the surgery. She was ready for the job Stark gave her. 

She was not ready for her breath to catch in her lungs when Steve Rogers asked her to marry him. 

In bed.

Out of the blue. 

Liv stared. She must’ve stared for several moments without speaking because she could see the line between his brows start to deepen. Her brain was racing, but she couldn’t get the word out of her mouth. She wanted to reply, but his question had left her breathless.

Then, he blinked, and it broke the spell.

“YES!” She whispered with what little reserve air left in her lungs, her eyes searching his face for redemption. It was the dam that broke. Her lungs started to heave, and the tears rolled down her cheeks in earnest. 

“Yes?” He asked, scared he didn’t hear her.

“YES!” She exclaimed in a normal voice, her hand placed on his chest. “I’ll marry you, Steve.”

The first kiss he gave her made her feel like she was something fragile, that he was afraid of breaking. The second kiss he gave her believed none of that lie. His mouth fed on hers, arms holding onto one another like they were afraid it was all a dream. 

“You need to talk to him.” She suddenly mentioned, pulling back. 

He smiled a bit at her. “Can it wait until daylight though?”

She nodded and put her head back on her pillow.

“And while that can wait, this cannot.” He rolled to his side of the bed, and she could hear him rustling through papers in his desk. When he said her name, she raised her head to find him kneeling on her side of the bed. She sat up, taking in the sight of Steve with his elbows holding a plain platinum band with a diamond solitaire between his thumb and index finger. 

“I’ve wanted to marry you since the first night I kissed you. The first day I saw you in the cafe made my heart stop. That first kiss restarted it and made it beat harder and more steadily that I thought possible. Bucky may be my best friend but you - you are my everything. Will you wear this ring, for me? For us?” As tears seeped into his eyes, Liv held out her hand, and he slipped the wisp of a promise onto her ring finger. 

“Steve, I’d burn the world down for you.” She whispered as he stretched up to kiss her again. 

“Now that’s something I’d like to see…” He murmured before her lips overtook his. 

 

—————————————————————————————

 

Liv was in her office costing out yet another dinner party when Steve bursts in unannounced. Well, he didn’t exactly burst in… he politely knocked as he was opening her door. Her smile warmed him as she looked up over the rim of her glasses. 

He uttered one word. 

“Bucky.”

Her smile faded slightly as she stood up. “You have another lead? Is it credible?”

He rubbed his hand over his face and stepped closer to where she’d risen. “It’s credible, but I have to go. Now.”

“I know. Go, Steve. Go. But come back to me, okay?” She stretched up on toes to kiss him. 

“Always.” Was his answer as he smiled and he hugged her close. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” She replied. 

He left, and she sat back down to finish her work.

The next knock on her door surprised her.

“Hey, Chef. Whatcha cooking?” Liv looked to up see Tony standing in her doorway.

“Oh, just the books, Mr. Stark. How may I help you?” She said with a smile in her voice if not spread widely across her face. 

“So, you and Rogers tying the knot?” He asked, nodding towards her ring finger, even though she’d left the diamond ring in her jewelry box. Puzzled, she looked at him, “How’d you know? Wait… forget I asked that. We live here. You own the building…” she trailed off.

“Ergo, I know all. Well, all that happens within these walls.” He finished for her. 

She chuckled. “Yes, Steve asked me to marry him, and I agreed.” 

“To each his own. I guess if Eagle Scouts are your thing… “ He plopped down in the one chair she had in her office that she wasn’t currently occupying. 

“Tony… what’s wrong?” While Liv rarely used his first name, she knew when to bring out the kid gloves. He looked her over for a moment and then darted his eyes away to other parts of the small room. 

“I think… no, I know… well, when people love each other but can’t quite make it work out… ah hell…. Pepper and I called it quits.” He mumbled. 

“Tony,” Liv says as understanding as possible. He waves off her hand. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have flaunted our engagement. I’m so sorry.” 

“Eh, well, what can you do. I’m not easy to live with. In fact, I’m not sure anyone can live with me. Guess it’s a good thing I can make robots to keep me company.” He rambled.

She looked him dead in the eyes. “Do you want anyone else to know?” She asked.

“If you don’t mind, maybe not yet. I’m not ready for that circus.” 

“Not my circus, not my monkeys. It’s not my place to tell anyone.” She whispered to him, eliciting the smallest of grins. “That includes Steve, Tony. I won’t say anything until you want him to know.”

Standing suddenly, Tony turned his back to leave the office. “I knew there’s a reason I liked you, Sullivan. Thought it was the way you pulled that stick out of Rogers’ backside. Guess I thought wrong.” He glanced at her for a moment. Liv could see the humor hiding the hurt in his eyes. She knew that pain, and she didn’t envy him at all. 

“My door’s always open, Mr. Stark.” She replied. 

“You mean, my door. What with my owning the building and all.” He huffed and disappeared around the corner. 

Liv whispered to herself. “What a sad, strange, little man. He has my pity.” And she looked at one of the few pictures in her office. It was out of a tabloid and featured her and Steve on the night of the No Kid Hungry ball. They could only see one another at that moment, and while she hated most of what the rag mags put out about their relationship, she was grateful for that picture. 

Without thinking, she picked up her phone and dialed.

“Hey - you busy?” She spoke into the landline. After a few beats of conversation, she asked her question. “Think you’re up for a visit? Yeah… yeah… Oh, I was thinking this Thursday. Excellent. I’ll see you then. Yep. Love you too. Bye.” She finished her phone call. 

It was time to pack her bags. 

 

——————————————————————————————————————————

“It’s Hotter Here.” Liv read off the billboard from the parking lot of the hotel. “Well, you got that damn right.” Sweat was a second skin in the middle of Georgia, even in the Spring. She climbed into her rental car and was off down the road for the next ten minutes with the A/C at full blast. 

Pulling down the familiar road, she made her right turns and wound up in front of the house with the gravel driveway, nestled in middle Americana. The rocks made the noise popping under her tires that she was so accustomed to hearing as a teenager sneaking back in after staying out past curfew. The silver-haired gentleman was waiting for her beside the house on the cement sidewalk. He raised his hand, and she turned off the car engine. 

Opening her door, he walked towards her with only a little limp in his step. For 76 years old he was pretty spritely. “Hey, Doodlebug. What’s brings you home?” The man asked pulling her in for a tight hug. She hugged him back, and when he finally released her, he held her arms so he could see all of her. When his hand felt the ring on her finger, she smiled.

“Well, I’ll be. I guess Mr. Fantastic asked you after all.” He smiled brightly at her. 

Liv’s smile faltered slightly. “Did you know?” She looked at the old man in front of her. What was he not telling her?

The twinkle in the eyes of the man barely contained his happiness. “He may be a man outta time, but I grew up with similar values as your Captain. I wasn’t surprised by the phone call. I am, however, surprised that you don’t recognize your ring.” 

Liv looked down at the diamond on her finger. She’d given it next to no thought besides the fact that it fit her tastes and naturally, Steve’s taste as well. Her thumb turned the solitaire around and around in several circles, something she’d taken to doing. “Dad, whose ring is this?”

“It was your mother’s… the one I gave her when I proposed.” He replied right as she could’ve sworn she saw a tear threaten his eyes.

Liv was confused. This ring was not the ring she remembered her mother wearing. This ring was not that ring because she had that ring in her jewelry box, it’s intricate details reminiscent of the 30s. This ring was a plain diamond solitaire on an equally plain platinum band. 

“This isn’t mom’s ring. I have mom’s ring.” She looked at her father for more information.

“You have your great aunt’s ring. Your mother didn’t start wearing it until her arthritis made her unable to wear this ring. I offered to have it sized, but she said why bother and started wearing this one. It made no difference to me. I knew who she was married to.” 

They’d walked around the ranch style mid-century modern house and made their way inside. The ugly ass green tile still covered the kitchen floor as she took a seat at the kitchen table between piles of papers and stacks of magazines. 

“Huh.” It was all she could manage to say.

Her dad chuckled. “Well said. So, why the visit? You get laid off?”

Liv laughed. “The reason for the visit was this,” She held up her hand. “But seeing as you were in on the plot, I guess this is simply a social call. Time to catch up, Coach.”


	17. Eyes Always Seeking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I started this piece, I wasn't sure how long or what direction it would take. About 3 days later, I'd fleshed out the entire thing in an outline and had notes all over the place about it. 
> 
> I say all of that to say this. 
> 
> The feel of this story is going to change and that is on purpose. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Also, the story the gentleman tells in this chapter is true and he actually exists. I took some artistic liberty with him for this story. The article I borrowed from can be found here.   
>  http://www.cnn.com/2012/11/09/us/vietnam-veteran-cemetery/

Standing over the gravesite in Macon Memorial Park, rain pelted down, making small rivers around the headstone. Dead flower petals, twigs, leaves, dirt, mud all trailed around the rock and continued on their paths of least resistance. 

Olive was glad it was raining. Even though she visited by herself, she knew she wasn’t the only one in the cemetery crying. The anonymity the rain offered was a nice buffer. 

It was hard to believe someone so important to her was buried beneath her feet in a box inside of another box. Every time she visited, she told herself she wouldn’t cry. Every time, she’s cried. Every. Time. 

The slight vibration in her coat pocket brought her back into reality. Who knows who is trying to get in touch with her but she was ignoring it for the time being. Still, it spurred her back into the dry comfort of her rental car. 

Closing the door, she pulled out her phone. It was Him. She’d have to get back to him later when she didn’t have every hyper-emotional thought running wild in her head. And just like that, the tears that had escaped her blinking eyes had turned into a flood of their own, cascading down her cheeks, beside her nose, onto her top lip. She brought the back of her hand to her mouth, trying to capture the liquid pain on the sleeve of her jacket. 

The rain drops created little rivers running down the front windshield, and it was all Liv could do just to watch. Minutes or maybe even an hour later, she dried her cheeks again and looked at her phone.

“Are you still at the cemetery?”

It was from Steve. He was supposed to meet up with her in Macon.

“I’m still here.”

Not even five minutes later, as she was staring into the rain again, a knock on her window shock her to her core. Looking over quickly, she recognized the figure and noted a car with the ubiquitous Über sticker on the window pulling past her car.

“I just got here,” Steve stated as he climbed into her car, trying not to get water on everything in the rental. “Hey, hey… are you ok?” He brought his hand up to her cheek and thumbed away a mascara smudge. 

“Yeah. No. I mean, I will be but not right now. It just hits harder here.” Liv managed to say, her voice thick with sorrow and leftover sobs. 

Steve pulled her as much into a hug as he could, wrapping his long arms around her across the console. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.” And she finished crying. She finished and couldn’t say another word. He didn’t ask her to, and for that, she was appreciative. The rain turned itself off as if it were a shower someone was operating. Steve half wondered if Thor was nearby. 

Finally, when she spoke, her voice was soft. “I wanted to show you something.” That was all she said as she put the car in drive and pulled through the cemetery’s uneven roads. Pulling out into traffic, she turned the air on but didn’t put any music on, and Steve knew she was thinking. Liv always played music; in the car, with earbuds, in the kitchen, at their apartment, it didn’t matter. It was almost as if their entire lives had a soundtrack and sometimes Steve caught himself wondering if she was intentionally doing that. 

Maybe ten minutes had passed in complete silence as Liv pulled into what looked to be another cemetery. This one had no signs naming it, no giant mausoleums, no overly ornate headstones. One obelisk stood lonesome amongst modest grave markers. Liv parked in the small U-turn drive and turned the car off. 

“This is Linwood Cemetery. We’re looking for Sgt. Rodney Davis’ grave. It should be right over here.” She mentioned walking off with Steve’s hand comfortably in her own.

They approached the grave she was looking for, and she turned to Steve. “Nat told me the story about you jumping on a grenade when you were first in the Army. Your’s was a dud, a test from Phillips, correct?”

“Yeah. It was a test. But I didn’t know that at the time. Neither did anyone other than Erskine or the General.” Steve had an idea where this was going.

“Well, I’m glad you passed that test. Sargent Davis, however, did not.” She made eye contact with someone past Steve’s shoulder, and he turned to see a middle-aged African American gentleman walking their way. “Captain Rogers, I’d like to introduce you to Edgar Ray, Sgt. Davis’ nephew.” As soon as the man was close enough, Steve offered his hand to the gentleman.

“Thanks for taking the time to stop by, Captain. It’d mean a lot to Rodney. He was a big fan of yours, even if he did enlist in a different branch.” Mr. Ray stated with a small smile. 

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Ray. Would you mind telling me Sargent’s story?” Steve asked with kind and knowing eyes. 

“I don’t mind at all. Everything I know, I’ve learned from Senior Sargent Ron Posey and what the family learned years after my uncle’s death at his medal ceremony. 

In early September 1967, the Marine battalion participated in Operation SWIFT, slugging it out with husky and well-equipped North Vietnamese troops.  
Just a few weeks into his tour of duty, Davis' company left its position to assist another company that had been overwhelmed by a larger enemy force during a search-and-destroy mission. The next few days brought a whirl of firefights and counterattacks.

The sergeants dug a defensive hole one evening and shared some time together.   
On September 6, the company walked into the largest U-shaped ambush Sr Sgt Posey had ever seen. The Marines were outnumbered by about three to one. They drew back because they were in a very tenuous position.

"Disregarding the enemy hand grenades and high volume of small arms and mortar fire," the Medal of Honor citation reads, "Sergeant Davis moved from man to man shouting words of encouragement to each of them while firing and throwing grenades at the onrushing enemy."

Posey said he heard the thud of one grenade hitting the ground. Davis acted without hesitation. He saw Rodney crawling on the bottom of the trench, pulling the hand grenade underneath himself.

My uncle absorbed "with his body the full and terrific force of the explosion," according to his medal citation. He died instantly, saving several comrades from serious injury or death. 

He was 25 years old.

"He saved my life. That sounds stupid I suppose, but he did," Sgt. Posey told me. 

He also to me, and I quote, ”You try to rationalize in this situation. He saved it for just that one moment. I could have been killed a thousand times after that. He gave me a chance to continue, and I used that chance to continue."

About 90 Marines, including another Medal of Honor recipient, died in Operation SWIFT. Enemy dead was estimated at 600.” 

“I like to think he made his choice and that choice helped save American lives.” Mr. Ray finished. 

Steve had taken a moment before he spoke. Liv’s eyes stayed on the Sargent’s grave but no longer had tear stains running down her cheeks. 

“I’m truly honored to know his story, Mr. Ray. Were you in the military as well?” Steve asked.

The other man simply chuckled. “Oh no, I was not cut out for military work. I choose the path of education. I taught middle school in the Bibb County Public school system.”

Steve smiled, “Well, it seems as if his bravery was passed down through your family. Bet that felt like a different type of war.”

“My father coached wrestling with Mr. Ray here at one point,” Liv asked. The older gentleman nodded and chuckled. “Boy did your daddy have one heck of a hold.”

Liv laughed at the memory. “Yeah, Coach Ruff used to tell the guys in school not to get into fights around my daddy. If he got his hands on you, you weren’t getting away. Made school so much fun, lemme tell ya. I was always known as ‘Coach’s Daughter.'” 

Mr. Ray put his arm around Liv’s shoulder. “Well, you survived, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.” She sighed slowly. 

“Hey kiddo, you ok?” He asked Liv.

She nodded at him and looked back at the grave. “Just missing mama today. That’s all.” She felt the two men behind her, more than she saw them, and she was grateful they gave her time to breath. 

“Yeah, I know your dad does too.” Mr. Ray finally offered. “But I try my best to keep that man outta trouble. You know how he is.” And with that last statement, Liv laughed. Steve relaxed a bit with the smile that crossed Liv’s lips. 

“I’m well aware how he is. Squirrelly is the word I choose. He’s squirrelly.” Liv replied. 

“I guess we should get moving,” Steve interjected, looking at his phone. “Thanks again for taking the time to show me this. It means so much to me.” He put his hand out to shake Mr. Ray’s hand in parting. 

“Captain, the honor is mine. Take care of this Spitfire, would ya? Make sure she doesn’t burn so bright she burns herself out.” Mr. Ray said with a look of concern in his eyes. 

“Yes, sir. I will protect her with everything I have.” Steve answered almost automatically. 

“I’m sure you will protect her, Captain. What I’m asking is that you also take care of her. In whatever way she needs.” Mr. Ray stated matter-of-factly, staring Steve down. Steve took a moment to absorb what the older man was getting to, and he nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”

“By kiddo. Call your old man more often, would ya?” Mr. Ray directed at Liv. 

“I’ll try.” Was all Liv could reply when she hugged him goodbye. (SEE REFERENCE FOR THIS!)

 

———————————————————————————————————————

“What was that about?” Steve asked Liv on the ride back to their hotel.

Not taking her eyes off the road, she answered his question plainly. 

“Well, I know you sometimes doubt if you’ve done enough, especially now that you’re looking for Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam about it; about how you didn’t feel like you fought as hard as you could to find him after he fell. And just listening to that, I thought it would do some good to hear how much of an inspiration you’ve always been.” She looked in her rearview mirror and over her shoulder before signaling and switching lanes. “Steve, even in the worst of times, during battle, you’ve inspired heroes. Don’t forget that.” 

With a quick glance his way, she saw him looking out at the passing pine trees. “It wasn’t some grand gesture, Steve. I knew Sgt. Davis’ story and I knew he’d been a fan. I thought maybe you’d be a fan of his too, ya know.” She sounded small in that statement. “I hadn’t planned on being so emotional before meeting up with him. I hate going to Mom’s grave. I really do. But I feel like when I’m in town, I should at least go once. Not sure why I feel that way. It's not like I have any memories of her there. It's just where her body is at rest. It's not where her soul lived.” 

Steve put his hand on her thigh, and she could feel his eyes on her. “You okay now?” He asked. Without looking at him, she already knew his eyebrows were raised in concern.

“I’m ok. I’ll always be ok. You know that.” She tried to make it funny. She failed and sounded tired.

Steve squeezed her thigh and looked straight ahead as they pulled into the parking lot. 

“Yeah, I know that.”

 

———————————————————————————————————————

The smoke burned his throat just the way he liked it, curling from his lips and releasing into the air around him. He’d started sweating within 5 minutes of being outside, but he rarely missed a smoke break. Being the owner of the shop meant he could come and go as he pleased. He’d close up, put a note on the door, and walk the half a block into the park situated between the courthouse and the jewelry store he ran. It made for perfect people watching, those coming and going, fighting for their lives or against others. The police presence was high, but that never made Malcolm uncomfortable. He knew to whom he answered. 

He’d been studying the town for months now. Luckily the modern era ushered in the time of people accepting new neighbors without much question. No one thought he was odd. He just seemed like a middle-aged jeweler who wanted to escape the big cities of the world. His assignment was to observe and report, even if most of his organization managed to be destroyed when the First Avenger crashed the Helicarriers into the Potomac. Cut off one head and all of that. 

Malcolm spotted the former football coach walking into a small restaurant once. He was pretty sure that this man was the link to his plan, whether his target knew it or not. Could he be the silver thread that would unravel the Avengers? Malcolm hoped so, but he was leaving nothing to chance. His plan may have to be changed, but the ending would remain the same, and he would go down as a hero in his organization, making two generations of his family proud. 

He saw the flash of blonde walk past him on the sidewalk. Recognizing her, he immediately watched her, wondering why she was in town, so soon. It looked like his timeline was being altered. 

——————————————————————————————————————————

“Are you ready?” He asked as the older man folded his handkerchief and placed it in his coat pocket. “Shouldn’t I ask you that?” Coach answered.

“I’ve been ready for this for months now,” Steve replied. Liv walked out of the ladies room and stole his breath. He’d seen her in ball gowns and chef coats and even his boxers, but this was the most beautiful he’d ever seen her. All the tears of the day prior were nowhere to be found in her eyes as she smiled at him. 

She had on a pair of charcoal gray trousers with wide, straight legs. Her feet were clad in kitten heels, the blouse screaming of another era. Her short nails manicured with a crimson polish, and her hair was pinned up in a few victory curls. He was deep in observation by the time she’d walked up to her fiancé and her father. “You ready for forever?” 

“Absolutely.” Steve answered as the couple walked into the room with the sign “MARRIAGE & GUN LICENSES” hanging over the door. Thirty minutes later they had their license and were just waiting for the Justice of the Peach to invite them into his quarters. 

 

——————————————————————————————————————————

“We just can’t take that chance, Steve.” She told him after they left the Justice’s quarters. 

“I know, but I want to enjoy us for just one more moment.” Her dad took two more pictures of the two of them with each other, laughing and smiling, and then he wandered off when one of the bailiffs recognized him. It turns out; her dad had coached half the town in football and the other half in basketball in addition to coaching wrestling. Grocery store trips with the old man turned into three-hour gab sessions with former students and parents. Liv avoided being in public with her dad for that very reason. There was no quick trip, no in-and-out. Ever.

Liv looked up into Steve’s eyes. “I’m sure Tony will want to throw us a bash when we tell them. We can celebrate then. But this, right now, this is for us. And I’m glad it’s just you and me.” She said.

“And your dad,” Steve added. 

“And my dad. Because I don’t have to concentrate on anything besides the fact that I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” Liv finished. 

He kissed her quickly. “When the luckiest girl marries the happiest guy, does the "space/time continuum" shatter?” 

“So, you’re the happiest guy in the world?” She asked him.

“I am.” 

“Good. Now, I’m gonna go change.” And with that, Liv walked into the Ladies Room with her bag. 

Moments later Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she walked down the steps leading to the street below beside him. Her hair caught the light, and he hated that they’d changed back into their street clothes. 

“Hey, hang on. I wanna get a quick pic of us.” He told her, pulling his phone from his pocket. 

He moved a few more steps further down the stairs than where she stood, and she leaned over his shoulder, kissing his cheek. Incandescently happy were the only two words fitting for the pair at that moment, and he wanted to document it. 

“I love you, Mr. Rogers.” She whispered into his ear. 

“I love you back, Mrs. Rogers.” He replied as he moved his mouth beside her ear. 

Neither saw the man on the bench. Had they seen him, they still wouldn’t have given him a second thought. But he knew who they were and now he had a photo of the two together and in her hometown. Zooming in on the manila folder she was carrying, Malcolm was able to make out the words, “Firearm Safety” on the label. Only that’s not something he thought they’d be celebrating quite like that. 

Forget requesting a public records file; he’d find what he was looking for in twenty minutes online. He stood up, stretched casually, turned and walked towards his apartment above his shop. He pulled out a burner phone from his pocket. Dialing a number, he waited.

“Mr. Ray, please.” 

 

————————————————————————————————————————

“I forgot who I was inviting for dinner.” Her dad stated as Steve demolished his steak and potato. Steve looked guilty. “Sorry, I was hungry.” 

Liv laughed at her two men. “Oh, like you had to cook, Coach. Also, why do all of those fitness magazines insist that you have to eat half a cow at every meal, Steve? It makes no sense! You still have a proportionally-sized stomach.” Steve swallowed the last bite of his meal and looked between the two Sullivan’s. “Doesn’t it make more sense that you have to eat more often than you have to each a shit ton of food at every meal?” Liv kept asking.

“Doodlebug, language.” Her dad said only half serious, pouring himself some more sweet tea. 

Steve had to stifle a small laugh. “He forgets I work in kitchens. At least I didn’t say “fuck” this time.” Liv replied to her father. Her men both chuckled at her irreverence.

Once the topic of Steve’s appetite was exhausted, they finish dinner and the dishes with Liv’s father. 

Over the next two days, Liv would pull Steve all around Macon, drinking in the dingiest bars she could remember, eating in some of the local haunts and exploring historical places alongside musical milestones. It was the biggest small town she knew, and they wouldn’t be able to maintain their cover for long. Best to show Steve what’s good and then get along. They did have jobs to get back to at home. But before they made their escape, they had to attend the Otis Redding Foundation Gala; it was their official cover for the visit. 

Another Gala for another worthy cause and Liv was glad to help. Nothing was dampening Steve’s outlook. Not that day. She knew Otis’s grandson, and he’d ask that they attend to boost donations. Also, she got to see Steve in a tuxedo, again. It was a fair trade off. 

————————————————————————————————————————

“Bye Dad. Thanks for everything. I love you.” Liv said, wrapped her arms around her father, telling him goodbye, once more. 

His still strong arms held her tight while he patted her back. “Love you too, Doodlebug. Congratulations. And you’re welcome. Now, Y'all go save the world or whatever it is you two do.” They parted, and Steve proceeded to fold himself into their rental car. 

The drive to the local airfield was quick, and they left together this time on one of Stark Industries jets. 

“What do you have this week? When can we tell everyone?” Steve asked softly, lightly running his hand down her thigh as they leaned together in the seats. Liv lowered the small spiral-bound notebook she was using, along with her tablet. 

“I have an important dinner party for Pepper that I have to personally oversee. She wants me to make sure nothing goes wrong at this dinner, or it could ruin the already fragile relationship they have with whichever visiting dignitary it is this time.”

Steve readjusted in his seat so he could look at her. “I guess I should’ve asked, when can we go on a honeymoon? I’m dying to get away just the two of us.” His smile warmed her heart.

“Um, lemme take a look. I think the week after next should work. Think you could make that happen, big guy?” She asked innocently.

“Keep calling me that, and I won’t be responsible for anything else that happens.” Steve practically growled in her ear. 

“All right, big guy, settle down. I have no interest in joining the mile high club.”

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind? I’m sure it wouldn’t be a first on this plane. It does belong to Tony after all.” Liv stared at Steve’s for a split second, wondering if she’d heard him correctly.

“Ha! You thought about it. Admit it, you thought about letting me have my way with you in the bathroom, didn’t you?” Steve asked accusingly.

Unclasping her seatbelt, Liv stood up, turned and pulled Steve out of his seat. “Well, I can’t join this club alone, now can I?” She asked him. 

Glancing around for the attendant, Steve grabbed her hand, and they quietly made their way into the spacious bathroom. 

“Thank God for Tony liking nice things.” Steve quipped as he locked the door.

“Thank God for Tony liking us,” Liv said, letting Steve kiss her hard against the small counter. 

It was gonna be a good flight.

 

————————————————————————————————————————

The beeping of Steve’s cell phone drug her out of her happy dreams. Flinging her arm over her eyes, she nudged him in the side with her knee.

“That’s yours.” 

He groaned and rolled over, ignoring the noise.

“Steve. Answer your fucking phone.” She said slightly cranky. 

The Avenger groaned again and put his arm out, haphazardly grabbing after the noise. 

The sharp intake of his breath startled her. “Bucky?” She asked.

“Rumlow,” Was the only name she heard as he climbed out of bed. 

“Where is he?” She asked. 

“Lagos. I’ve gotta Assemble.” He replied, looking over her form in their bed. Slowly she reached up to him and pulled him into a kiss.

“Go. Be a hero. But come back to me, okay?” She murmured. 

“Always.”


	18. Was there in someone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm torn. I want this to follow along with CA:CW, I really do. And I'm gonna try my best for that to happen, but the further along we go, the more it will diverge. Also, there's that thing that happens in the movie that can't and won't happen in this fic. 
> 
> Let me know what you think.

“Steve?” Liv asked as she walked into their room to grab her notepad. He was looking at a drawing he’d sketched in WWII. It was a monkey on a unicycle. “You ok?” She said, barely above a whisper, walking towards him.

He turned his gaze towards her. “I never got to tell Peggy.”

“Tell Peggy what?” She asked. He looked down again.

He looked down again. “That we got married.”

Liv closed her eyes for a moment.

“Ah. Was it on purpose?” She asked tentatively.

“No. First, there was Lagos and the thing with Rumlow, now the Accords thing with Ross. It just slipped my mind.”

Liv didn’t want to ask the next question. “Can you tell her now?”

“She passed away. This morning. In her sleep.” He said it all in such a soft tone; Liv had to replay it in her mind a few times to make sure she heard it.

“She was at peace?”

“I think so. But Liv, I didn’t get to tell her that we were married.” Steve said, more animated. “She worried about me when I went to visit. She was so concerned that I was lonely and sad. And then I just forgot. I forgot to tell her.” Liv knew she had to say just the right thing. She could feel how tender he was at the moment. One of the last vestiges of his previous life was gone. Peggy was the thread that had held him together until they met. At least, that’s what Steve told her.

Settling closer to where he was at his desk, she placed her hand on his arm. “Steve. I need you to listen to me. Peggy knew we were together, right?” He shook his confirmation, blinking slower than normal. “Okay, so she knew you were happy. She also knew you were busy saving the world time and again. But please, please don’t beat yourself up about this because she knew. Even had I not told her, she knew you were going to move on. She had, and she was okay with that.”

Steve looked at her for a moment but didn’t say anything. She gathered her thoughts once more. “I told her because she’d asked me to. Her niece, Sharon, brought me a note from Peggy after our relationship became public. She asked for me to keep her updated on you and on us. You’re right. She worried about you something fierce.”

“Over time, we became friendly. Friends, even. It seemed to help her. She sure as shit knew what it was like to be a female in a male driven industry.” Steve turned his hand over to hold hers and sighed. Liv had slight tears in her eyes, and her voice quivered when she started speaking again.

“You should mourn Peggy. I know I will. I think you should mourn her and all of the things y’all never got to have together. I think you should cry and stare at her picture and let yourself crumble and hurt and feel all of the pain that you feel. I think you should be miserable for a few days. Because this sucks and there is no other way to put it.” Tears crept down her cheek, and she sniffed a bit. This was not about her. She’d lost a friend and mentor, but this was not about her.

“Will you come with me to the… funeral?” Steve asked, afraid if he said the word it would make it more final.

“When is it?”

“This weekend, in London.”

Liv wanted to sob at this point. Hard. “I can’t. I have that big dinner thing at Stark Tower in the city.”

Steve hung his head. “I’ll take Sam. It’ll be ok.”

“Yes. YOU will be ok, Steve.” She raised her hand to run her fingers through the short hair on the back of his head, reaching for anything that could offer him some comfort.

“And why do you think that?” He asked.

“Because I have faith. In you.” She told him. “And so did Peggy.”

 

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

 

“Hey, you there?” Bentley asks Olive as they’re walking through the tower kitchens on their way to yet another meeting.

Sighing, Liv stopped and looked at all the crap she was carrying in her hands. Her laptop, small notebook, knife roll, and what amounted to too many papers tucked into various folders. They were not yet late but would be if they didn’t make a move towards the conference room.

“Yeah, I’m good. I just have too much stuff with me right now.” She shuffled her kit’s strap over her shoulder but wound up disturbing all of the paperwork. Bentley made a grab for the folders only managing to save her notepad from hitting the floor. Papers were everywhere.

“God DAMMIT!” Liv screamed at the ceiling, standing in the middle of the mess. Another kitchen worker looked over briefly but returned to pushing the speed rack into the walk-in. Everyone knows that when the chef isn’t screaming at you, it is a good idea to keep your head down and work.

“I’ve got it, chef,” Bentley told her from his crouched position on the kitchen floor, diligently cleaning up her mess. “You go ahead, and I’ll gather all this up and put it up.”

With a large sigh, she handed him her knife kit. “Would you mind taking this as well?” He nodded. “Thanks. See you in a minute.”

She left, Bentley finally gathered everything he could and walked back into the kitchen to the Executive Chef’s office. He grabbed the handle, but it was locked tighter than Tony’s checkbook. Bentley didn’t have clearance in the tower like he did at the facility. Realizing this, he took all of the supplies and locked them securely in his locker in the staff room.

Quickly he made his way back to the conference room, where he joined Liv and the other Stark Employees. Liv nodded her thanks and pushed a cup of coffee his way.

Pepper was situated at the head of the table as one of the coordinator’s for this dinner was going over the final seating when Liv’s cell phone buzzed. Then, she heard the familiar “ding” when Pepper's cell phone went off. Suddenly everyone was reaching for their phones as an assistant burst into the room, walking over to Pepper and animatedly whispering something in her ear. People started talking, and soon enough the room became loud with conversations.

Liv fished her phone out of her pocket and started scrolling through the notifications. Then it rang.

“Yes?” She asked the unknown number.

“Hey, it’s me.” His voice came through the line. “Listen, something’s happened at the UN. I’m on my way there now. But I wanted you to know that I’m safe.”

“Ok. What happened?” She asked Steve in a hushed tone.

“There was an explosion. It looks like Bucky was there.”

“Bucky? Your Bucky?” She whispered as quietly as she could, tucking into Bentley’s shoulder to muffle her voice.

“Yeah but this doesn’t feel right. Sharon is here, and she’s got some info. I’m gonna try to bring him in.” Liv closed her eyes. Of course, he would.

“Please. Please be careful, Steve.” She said.

“I wanted to let you know. So, no matter what happens or what’s said, okay?” He asked.

“What does that mean?” She asked.

“I just… this doesn’t all add up to me. I’ll let you know what I can, but we may be going dark for a bit.” Steve paused, “And, I wanted to tell you that I love you.”

“I love you too. Be safe.” She said.

“I will. Call you when I can. Bye.” Steve said.

Pepper took control of the room again, gently raising her voice and calling everyone back to attention.

“As you all probably know by now, it appears there was a bombing at the UN. I only have what you’re reading at this time, so we can just speculate. Rather than doing that, and until we know more, I suggest we get back to the task at hand. Chef, quickly though, is Steve ok?” She directed towards Liv.

“Yes, ma’am, he’s ok. That was him just now, checking in. He’s still in London for Agent Carter’s funeral.” Liv replied.

Pepper nodded, “Again, my condolences are with your family. Let’s move along, shall we?”

And just like that, they were talking about the dinner party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to let me know what you think. I live for comments and kudos as well as I love talking to my readers. Y'all take care.


	19. That Dug Long Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now is when things start to get interesting. Also, two chaps in one day... oh why the hell not.

The pain was unlike anything she’d felt before. Pounding in her head and ears made her nauseous, and the smell of mildew assaulted her nose. It hurt to open her eyes, and from her limited vision, Liv figured she had at least one black eye. Coughing made her ribs hurt so much that she was positive a few were cracked if not clean broken. She tried to sit up as best as she could but her ribs hurt too much to let her, her left ankle was throbbing, and her tongue tasted blood in her mouth. She tried pulling her hand towards her face, but something stopped her, keeping her arms at her sides. Maneuvering around, she heard the metallic sound of chains moving beside her and felt the cuffs around each wrist. Her left wrist possibly broken. When she tried using her fingers, she wasn’t sure anything was happening. 

Little light entered the small cell and she was freezing. Three blank walls, with a metal door made up the fourth wall directly beside where she was on the floor, surrounded her. One bucket in the corner and a dirty towel were the only other items in the room. Her chains were attached to the wall behind her. 

Liv had no idea where she was, how long she was out, or what had happened to her. Every thought was foggy, and she was having a hard time distinguishing between dreams and the real world. Moving onto her belly, she turned her head to the side and tried to get into a position that didn’t cause a stabbing pain to radiate through her torso. It was nearly impossible, and she twisted just the wrong way too much, gasping before passing out from the pain. 

How much later, she didn’t know, she heard the door drag open, scraping across the floor. Footsteps stopped beside her head, and she heard sounds. No, she heard a voice. Opening one eye, she could make out the outline of a human leaning over her. The sound muted like she had cotton shoved into her ears. Liv just looked at the person over here with a blank face, trying to make her vision come into focus or maybe her ears to unstop. 

When the sharp toe of a boot connected with her thigh, she yelled out, gasping and trying to tuck into herself but not saying a word. 

Another kick came this time to her abdomen. Another cry and tears started flowing down her cheek. More garbled words screamed at her, and she thought she could make out words, “ANSWER ME!” in English. 

“I don’t understand what you’re saying. I can’t hear!” She said as loudly as she could between sobs. Even her words sounded wrong. She rolled her forehead against the cold ground, looking away from the person standing over her and closing her eyes. The crack against her back made her vision go white before she fell back into unconsciousness. 

Maybe an hour later or even a day later, she tried opening her eyes again. Blinking through what was either blood or tears, hell, maybe even both, she was finally able to see some of the cell again. Her bladder woke her up, but she didn’t want to move. 

Everything hurt beyond any pain she’d ever had before. Scanning the room, she saw the bucket. Rolling as much onto her back as she could, she winced and moaned in pain. She had no idea how she was going to get up to the bucket. Her breath was heaving, but she could barely hear herself. 

Slowly, she pushed herself back across the floor with one foot until she was touching a wall. As gently as she could, she sat up, beside the wall and turned her torso. She then pulled one leg as far under her as she could manage. While pain shot through her thigh as she moved it, she could still control it, and her sore ankle seemed to be able to support her. Praying she didn’t break something further or do more damage, she braced herself and slowly started pushing her back against the wall, walking her feet back up under herself. 

Every molecule in her body screamed at that moment. Whatever they’d hit her in the back with made its mark. She felt each inch crawl past its stain as she struggled to stand up. What seemed like an hour later, she was standing up and struggling to stay that way. With her eyes focused on the bucket in the opposite corner, she slowly took one step before taking another until she was standing in front of it. 

In the only stroke of luck, she’d had, the chains allowed her cuffed hands enough movement to pull down her pants and underwear. She squatted over the bucket, holding onto the sides of it, and emptied her bladder. Struggling to pull her pants back up, she pitched forward and fell to her knees. Breathing hard, she put her hands on her clothes and stood up, one foot at a time, pulling her bottoms as she moved. 

Once she covered herself, she bent down onto one knee and picked up the towel. She managed to fling it across the top of the bucket to mute the smell. While she couldn’t see for shit and her hearing was questionable, her sense of smell seemed to be intact. At this point, that wasn’t a good thing. Then, she realized she was shivering. Liv was surprised she couldn’t see her breath. It was so cold in her room she thought that might be helping with her injuries. 

Sliding down the wall until she was back on the floor, she started going over what she could remember. 

The dinner. The kid. The chaos that erupted around them all, but what happened? 

Flashes of Bentley’s face as he backed away from her. Screams erupted around her. Confusion. Running down hallways and stairs. The idea that she’d been caged or trapped or was trying to outrun someone flickered across her brain, but she couldn’t grab onto any of them.   
She could hear the thuds of being beaten. Flashes of pain coursed through her brain. 

She couldn’t think enough to piece it all back together before the door was opening again. 

Light poured into the room, and this time she could make out the face of a man walking in. He unlocked the chains from the wall and tugged her up roughly, groans escaping as she tried to stand without falling. The man was big, and he held onto the end of her chains like she was an animal. With a nod of his head, he pointed her towards the door. 

They walked down a corridor with little lighting, past other doors like her own. Whenever she’d come to a turn, he’d tap her shoulder in the direction to turn. After the last turn, they met with a flight of stairs. Slowly she made her way up. She could feel the man was frustrated with her, but he didn’t touch her. It was only one flight of stairs, and at the top, the lights grew brighter, illuminating the bare stylings of the building. Gray walls ran into gray tile floors. 

She stepped into a hallway that had doors on either side. At the end of the hallway was something familiar. The man pushed her to make her walk towards the end. They stepped into a large room, and Liv tried to make sense of where she was. 

It was a kitchen. A somewhat bare kitchen, but a kitchen none the less. Pots and pans hung over a large double sink, and there was a gas range over a stove. A reach-in freezer stood beside the door that she imagined was a small walk-in cooler. Both had locks on them.

In the middle of the room was a stainless steel prep table bolted to the floor creating somewhat of a galley kitchen. The part she couldn’t figure out was a bar bolted to the ceiling. It ran the entire length of the kitchen, but nothing was hanging from it. It didn’t look like any fire suppression system she’d ever seen. There was no use for it, yet there it hung. 

The man pushed her again into the room and walked her to the table. Pulling her chain up from behind her, he quickly showed her what that bar was for. Turning her around, she felt him move her hands. She closed her eyes as her vision started to swim. More muffled clicks and jerks and then she looked down. He’d arranged it all so that her hands were in front of her, the cuffs running through what seemed like a belay device, then running up to the bar. 

Stepping from around the table, the man left the room, and Liv stood in place watching him walk away. The world felt as if it might tilt again, and she felt her knees start to buckle under her. Soon enough, she was sitting on the floor with her arms hanging at face level. The pain in her side was ricocheting through her torso, but there was nothing she could do. Besides putting water in a pot and boiling it, there was nothing she could do.

The dried skin across her lips snapped her back to it. Water. There was water here. Using her biceps and whatever muscles hurt the least, she pulled herself up and slip her chains over to the sink. She could reach. She could reach the faucet. Turning on the water, a moderate drizzle of clear water ran into the sink. She placed her hands under the sink and filled then. She meant to drink from it until she got a good look at her hands. 

Dried blood and dirt were etched into each crack and crevice. Her nails were ragged, and grime was under each one. Scrapes across her palms started to hurt with the water held in them. She gently rubbed her hands together, and the run-off turned into a brown-pink color. Her brain was frantically trying to remember what happened but nothing complete came to her. She picked under her nails, washing what dirt she could manage down the drain, as the tears of pain and confusing ran down her face. 

Once she felt like her hands were moderately clean, she gathered water and took several deep pulls. Her stomach turned a little, and she settled for rinsing out her mouth, amazed she had most of her teeth still. She had at least one cracked tooth, but that pain was masked by all of the other in her body. She’d bitten her tongue at some point and it, like most of her face, was swollen. Then, Liv realized she could wash her face off.   
Testing the warm water, which thankfully worked, she rinsed and rubbed as gingerly as she could. Yeah, both eyes were probably black and blue. The left eye was not as swollen as her right eye, but it was tender to the touch. More blood mixed with dirt rinsed down the drain as she discovered numerous cuts and scrapes across her face. There was even bloody water rinsed off of her neck.   
Using the front of her shirt, which she realized wasn’t hers, she dried her hands and faced off. It wasn’t a shower, and it wasn’t industrial strength pain relievers, but she felt a little better. She turned the water off and leaned against the sink. Panic started to creep in more slowly this time. She wasn’t wearing her clothes. 

She didn’t know where she was or who had her. 

She didn’t know what had happened. 

A small cough behind her got her attention as she turned to find a man looking at her. 

“Olive. I’m so glad you could join us. Or do you prefer to be addressed as Mrs. Rogers?”


	20. So I Will Not Ask You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Knowing that you opened your heart and finally let someone in. You’d been so careful, hadn’t you?” He asked. “Had you ever been in love before?” She ignored him. He didn’t stop.
> 
> Y'all shit's gonna get dark. Real dark. I hope I mark all of the necessary trigger warnings but please let me know if I don't.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

Continuing to cut with the smallest paring knife known to man, Liv ignored his question.

“Knowing that you opened your heart and finally let someone in. You’d been so careful, hadn’t you?” He asked. “Had you ever been in love before?” She ignored him. He didn’t stop.

“It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest, and it opens your heart…” He paused. She was now staring at him directly in the eyes.

“And it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.” She replied, her voice cracking from either nonuse or the silent sobbing for hours. “Why are you using a Gaiman quote on me?”

Silence crept through the kitchen. Liv waited for the quiet. Right now, in this situation, she lived for it. She found she loved the stillness right up until the moments her brain decided to let her remember Steve’s voice. Her hearing had returned mostly to normal, although quietly spoken words still sounded muffled.

She continued to dice a potato, placing all of the cubes into the salted water in a stock pot. There was no real way to know how long she’d been unconscious. She didn’t know how long she’d been gone. Every day, they made her cook all of the meals for the sparse staff at this remote output. Every night, more abuse, more torture. More silent prayers to just let her die.

The parties that partook in her punishment weren’t the same every evening, but it seemed like they all got their shots in. She was grateful for the swift kicks to her legs, the errant slaps to her face. Those that were never more than the physical pain.  But, in the darkness, when hands touched parts of her she wasn’t able to close off, she listened to the lyrics of “The Scientist” in her head, closed her eyes, dreamed of her wedding to Steve, of his quiet strength and gentle understanding.

No one raped her. No one tried to fuck her against the wall or hold her down to have their way with her. At first, she was sure it was because she looked like a zombie. Now that some of her more superficial wounds had healed, she wasn’t so lucky. One pair of guards showed up in her cell in the middle of the night several times. They took turns grabbing her breasts and stroking themselves on her thighs. The other would watch, dick in hand, getting himself ready for his turn. Her tears only excited them more, so she quickly learned to turn them off.  They never raped her but their torture worked.

Once both had finished on her, or on the floor, they would tuck themselves back into their pants, slam the cell door shut, laugh, and continue speaking to one another in the same language she didn’t know. Liv would count for 5 minutes before moving to pick up the disgusting rag that was still in her cell.

Last night she picked it up and held it away from her body. It was stiff, full of their dried semen and stench. She vomited immediately. Her ribs twinged with the motion and bile burned her nose. Turning her head, she managed to wipe her mouth on the shoulder of her shirt. Her chains let her pull her shirt down to her thigh where his release was still running down her leg.

These two would pull her pants along with her underwear off and leave them in the far corner before they started their fun for the evening. Part of her was grateful that she had something to keep her mind off of the reality that was fast settling in. After cleaning herself as best as she could, she walked on her knees across the floor towards her pants, struggling with them before allowing herself to lay on the cold floor, finally fully clothed. That morning, she’d managed to pull the corner of her shirt into the stream of water enough to rinse the evidence of the previous evening down the drain.

They let her use one paring knife for most of the cutting, the three-inch blade woefully small for most of the tasks unless it happened to be a whole animal they’d brought in from a kill. Mostly reindeer, some fox, birds, and an abundance of fish. She knew she must be in the far Northern Hemisphere, from the types of animals the men were hunting. All of the vegetables were canned or dehydrated, except for a few potatoes and onions. She had a decent array of seasonings, but there was nothing exceptional in the kitchen supplies. One guard stayed in the kitchen, in the corner on a stool with her at all times.

Today was his day. The man who’d asked all of the questions when she was first brought in, was her guard. Her “keeper,” he called himself.

“Oh Mrs. Rogers. You made it easy. You fell in love. You showed us your heart and the heart of the Great Captain America. You gave us all of the tools we would need to take down the one thorn in our side that just doesn’t seem to know when to quit.” He made a move to get up. All of the guards stayed at least three feet from her. Between being cuffed to the bar above her, the shackles on her ankles, and the small knife, they could maintain their own safety from that distance.

Her third day in the kitchen, she held the knife over her left arm and made the motion to start to press the blade into the area of her wrist, pulling it towards her elbow. She didn’t much remember doing it, and the guard was yelling and yanking the knife from her hands before she realized she had made a move and wasn’t daydreaming about it. So, that’s why she was never alone in the kitchen. She’d wondered why the guards were with her.

Now, without a word, her keeper slapped her across the face so hard she crumpled onto the silver prep table before falling completely to the floor. When she came to, he was back on the stool in the corner, staring at her.

“Why are you keeping me alive?” She asked, not moving any more muscles that what it took to say the few words.

“Because we have a use for you here. You can cook. Tony Stark says your cooking is phenomenal.” He replied with more enthusiasm than she expected.

“Anyone with YouTube can cook. Why are you keeping me alive?” She asked again.

There was a loud slap on the table above her head, and he was glaring down at her.

“ENOUGH QUESTIONS! Get up and fix the meal. And no…. more…. talking,” he barked.

Slowly she stood up, spit some blood into the sink, and washed it down. She was surprised she still had all of her teeth.

Her ears were full of cotton again, and her left ear was ringing. So much for progress.

Day turned into night, and she was put back into her cell. This time, her guard just watched her as she slowly lowered herself to the floor after he attached her chains to the wall. When she didn’t hear the tell-tale sound of the door slamming and locking, she looked back where he was standing.

This man was the same man that walked her into the kitchen the first time. This guard had never touched her. He’d never spoken to her and Liv wasn’t sure she’d seen him since he made her walk like a domesticated animal down the hall on a leash.

“Do you know why you’re here.” He asked in a grumbled voice. Or maybe it just sounded grumbled because the ringing was still blocking out parts of words. Looking him in the eyes, she replied, “Yes.”

“And do you know how you got here?”

“No.”

“Who is Georgia ?”

“Georgia?”

“Don’t play games with me. Who is Georgia Wuster to you? What do you know about her?” He asked more persistently.

Liv shook her head. How did he know Georgia? “She worked for me. Georgia is my Sous Chef.” Liv stuttered. The man started pacing in the cell. “Well, she is my sister. What happened to her when you were taken? Was she hurt?”

Closing her eyes, Liv tried to remember all she could about that night. Nothing but screams and Bentley’s face frantically searching hers as she closed elevator doors were all she could see.

“I… I don’t know.” She croaked out.

The guard looked at her before exhaling slightly. His shoulders slumped forward, and he leaned against the wall. “Are you, can you…. help me?” She stuttered out.

Asking things like this would get any hostage into trouble. She knew this. But at this point, she was resigned to being killed as soon as she was no longer needed and those days were not innumerable. Turning to look at her, the guard spoke again.

“No. I can’t help you. Even if I wanted to help you, there is nothing that can be done.” He paused. “This is all part of Malcolm’s plan.”

“What plan? Who’s Malcolm?”

“Malcolm is our uncle. You’ve already met him.” Ah yes, the ring leader. The one who just loves to kick and slap her. The one in the kitchen. “You only need to know what your part in the plan is and you’re playing your part beautifully.” He strolled to the door and slammed it behind her.

Liv threw up onto the floor beside her. She was part of a HYDRA plan to take down Steve Rogers, Captain America. She knew this. Malcolm had let her in on that little secret in the kitchen. Everything that was happening was taking too much time to register in her head. But this guard telling her that she was aiding that plan, not fighting it, felt worse than the knowledge that she was going to die.

She was going to die, and she wouldn’t be able to tell Steve how sorry she was. Sorry for being careless, sorry for being the linchpin in the grenade that tore apart the fabric of the world. Sorry for breaking his heart and ruining everything he’d worked for his entire life.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fifteen meals were prepared and served by Liv’s count. She’d been captive for five more days. Concluding that she had a concussion when she forgot how to make gravy for thirty minutes once, the counting seemed to help her. The evening before, after a particularly disgusting oaf of a man rubbed himself while whispering all the things he’d be doing to her if Malcolm would let him, took her pants with him when he left. She’d sobbed herself to sleep on the dirty floor, shivering with her baggy panties the only covering for her lower body.

The next morning, a pair of pants were waiting on the table in the kitchen. They were well worn and had stains all along the left leg, but they were somewhat clean. She put them on, the feeling constricting after the way her other pair had stretched out.

“Ah, I see you got my gift. Your others were becoming way too big. And we all know what you would’ve done had we given you a belt. No prisoner suicide on my watch.” Malcolm practically purred at her from the kitchen entrance. Liv looked at the floor. “Thank you.” It was all she could mutter, and she wasn’t sure he heard her.

When she heard the movement of the stool, she raised her head. “Yes. You are learning your place nicely, aren’t you?” Liv blinked, making no other change in her expression. “Why don’t you get to your job? You don’t want the men angry with you, now do you?”

Slowly she started preparing breakfast foods.

“You know what is the most surprising about all of this?” Malcolm asked no one. “I am surprised at just how smooth the entire operation has gone.” He stared at her, daring her to pose a question, any question. She concentrated on cracking eggs that were a bit different from chicken eggs into a bowl.

“I had contingencies in place because our intelligence told us what a fighter you were. Story after story after story about you putting some kitchen worked on their ass for being not up to standard. Speeches about equity and standing up to bullies. And your husband. He’s THE freedom fighter. The man with the plan to stand up for what he believes is right.” Liv swallowed more exaggerated then, feeling the tears starting in her eyes. He was right. They were fighters. And not only had she given up, but so had Steve.

Before this moment, she hadn’t thought about that. It took all of her brain power not to get beat to a pulp more than she was already and at nights, thankfully, she would pass out from either beatings or not enough food and exhaustion. Errant thoughts of their former life, so many happy moments, flickered across her mind’s eye but never did she dwell on them. She had a bit the first few days, but they only served to make her more miserable after they were gone. Shutting down was her only salvation. It may be a coward’s way, but it was a type of survival strategy. For how much longer, she didn’t know.

But thanks to this man, this evil man, she was remembering all of the work her husband had put into finding his best friend. Even the day of the dinner, she remembered seeing some news stories about a fight breaking out and authorities capturing Barnes to take him for evaluation. She’d been relieved when Pepper told her that bit of news, that their Avengers were safe, and then, she’d silenced her phone to concentrate on getting the event started. That was when her memory began to fade.

“There it is. The realization that you were not as important to them as you once convinced yourself you would be. Yes, your betrayal will destroy him. But only temporarily. He has his “Bucky” back now. HYDRA’s work on the Asset is unparalleled. His brain will never be freed from his programming, but your husband needn’t know that. Even now, he is wanted globally for breaking his friends out of prison, but he seeks a way to “fix” his friend. He will throw himself completely into solving what troubles James Buchanan Barnes has, and those troubles count as high as the number of stars in the sky."

Malcolm stopped talking when a guard stepped in to whisper a message to his ear. Nodding, Malcolm dismissed the man with a swift flick of his wrist.

“How odd is it that no one has come for you? Thought you meant more to your friends, did you not?” He asked her bitingly.

Liv stopped what she was doing and looked up. “I was just a cook.”

“You were not just a cook. You were the wife of the great American hero. And now, you are a member of HYDRA.”

Liv knew her, face betrayed her but she maintained her silence.

“Tell me, have you spoken to Coach recently?” Malcolm asked. Liv knew then that she was a true orphan. With the tears now spilling down her cheeks she shook her head from side to side.

“No.” Her voice didn’t even sound like her own. The smile blooming across Malcolm’s face made her stomach turn.

“Oh well, I guess you weren’t the daughter he used to brag about at the diner on Mulberry Street when he met up with his old Ballard B colleagues, huh? Always had a story to anyone who’d listen about how you’d worked hard and life had thrown its punches at you but you always stood back up. Always. And you always had a moment to call dear old pops, didn’t you?”

  
Liv turned and started dry-heaving into the sink. She hadn’t thought this situation could get any worse. But it had. She retched and coughed until she felt a tug on her chains. It didn’t pull her back, so she rinsed her mouth out, and dried her face on her sleeve.

“Finish your job, Chef.” Malcolm spat the title at her as he perched himself back on his stool.

Leering at the man in the corner, she spoke. “Steve knows I’d never betray him. Even if it means my death.”

Malcolm chuckled. “Oh, you are adorable. And näive to boot.” She flared her nostrils, trying to breathe without crying. “Your entire history was rewritten, my dear. Because we haven’t made it this far by not doing our homework.” He let his statement process.

“Steve Rogers knows that people will do anything they have to to get what they want. And if my niece was able to create and entire alternate life for you online, was able to slot events and names and dates into your life that prove you were an operative, who do you think he will believe?  He is a man in exile with the world’s most deadly assassin, who’s team is split beyond repair, who has just stage a frankly impressive prison break at a hyper-secure location. He would not be beyond believing that you were not who you posed to be. After all, he spent most of his life not completely trusting many people."

Liv physically felt her soul shatter. This was it. The suffocating reality of not having her father, her husband, or her friends was enough to kill her from a broken heart. And this time, it just might be her end.


	21. Why You Were Creeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve stood up, knocking his chair back. He needed to talk to Liv. The King rose as well, hand outstretched towards Steve. “Please Captain. Take a seat. There is more.”

Tony looked at the burner phone in his hand. He’d taken to keeping it with him at all times. He knew he could patch it through to the AI interface and answer it through his personal phone, but something about the weight of the store-bought flip phone gave him a little comfort. 

When his personal cell beeped on his desk, he jumped. 

It was a message from Pepper. 

“Do these look right to you?” There was a link to a file about Liv. It was a SHIELD file. Tony pulled it up and read it. He’d vetted Liv himself when he hired her; then he’d re-vetted her once Natasha had dumped all of the HYDRA and SHIELD info online for the world to see. 

This file was not the same file. Well, it was, but there was now information in it that hadn’t been there the first two times he’d read it. He sat both phones down. 

Pepper was still in New York at Avenger’s Tower. He’d been back at the compound only two days, but they’d been in contact. Tony didn’t know if it was his duty to tell Steve about Liv. They hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms. At least Pepper still talked to him, when she had to. 

Her phone rang once before she answered. “So, what do you think?” Pepper asked. 

“I feel like the hits keep on coming, Pep.” 

“I know. But it’s our responsibility to fight against those that keep hitting us, Tony.” She breathed out in a voice that didn’t sound half as sure of her statement. “But I understand the feeling.”

Long moments passed on the phone while they listened to each other breath. It was the most extended amount of time Pepper had been in a conversation with Tony without him speaking.

“Do you think Steve knows?” She asked.

Tony sighed through his nose. “I’m not sure that IS our responsibility.” 

“Tony.”

“Pepper.”

“I know you’re hurting. You know I know. But Liv is important to you, and she’s important to me, no matter who she’s dating. None of this adds up to me, and I know it doesn’t add up to you either.”

“You don’t think we can figure this out without Steve’s help, do you?”

“I do not. Do you have a way to contact him?”

“Possibly. If he picks up the phone.” 

“Make the call Tony. I’m gonna go talk to Bentley and see if he remembers anything new9.” And with that, she disconnected the call. 

So, Liv was HYDRA. HYDRA created the Asset. The Asset killed his parents. The Asset’s best friend is Liv’s lover. If she turned out to be HYDRA, Tony vowed to blow a hole in her chest himself. 

Sitting up straighter, he pulled up the hologram on his desk top. Did Liv have anything to do with Bucky Barnes? Where they connected at all? It would be a surefire way to take down the First Avenger. His former best friend and his fiancé working against him. 

Even with Pepper’s urging, he wasn’t entirely sure Liv wasn’t HYDRA at this point. He’d call Steve, but first, he needed to find Romanoff.

 

———————————————————————————————

 

He was sketching in his notebook, sitting in a chair in his quarters. Steve was drawing pictures from memory. Liv at the Ocmulgee Indian Mounds, looking out from the Great Mound. Bucky smiling as he was now, not as he’d been back before the wars. His easy smile and coifed hair brushed back from his face. Sam working on his wing-pack at a table. The King laughing with his guards during a meeting. Then there were the others as well. His former teammates. Wanda before her torture, bright shining eyes, looking at Vision as he explained a cooking concept she didn't understand. 

He sketched, and sketched, and sketched some more until he’d sharpened his charcoal too much. He smudged and shadowed and erased lines and hashes, and he continued. Bucky had gone under only a day prior and he’d not heard from Liv, despite getting a message to her through back channels. They’d been on the run and fighting so much there was little time for sleep, but sleep did not come for the superhero. His worry for his friend was replaced with worry for his wife. 

Steve knew that his actions over the past week would make life hard for her back in the states. He was thankful that they’d not made their marriage public prior because he was sure Ross would have Liv locked away in yet another prison in an even more remote part of the world. That thought made him nauseous. 

He hadn’t talked to her, and it was started to feel wrong. Slowly he sat his pad and pencil on his small table and stood up, straightening the front of his slacks before he left his room. Down the hall, through some pathways, and up a staircase took him to another part of the compound in Wakanda. He walked into a room that might as well be called the communications center. Slowly he scanned the room until he found Barton at a desk by himself.  
“Hey.” Steve addressed him quietly. Barton looked up. “Hey Cap. Get some rest?”

Steve shook his head “no.” “You did send the message to Liv’s phone, right?”

Barton acknowledged him but didn’t say a word, a concerned expression covering his face.

“Let’s go find some privacy,” Steve told his teammate. Nodding, Clint stood up, closed his laptop, and put his stuff in a small pack, shrugging into the straps. They left the office and walked until they were on one of the balconies that few had access. 

“You haven’t heard from Liv?” Clint asked once they’d made sure they were alone. Steve’s eyes gave him away. 

“No, I haven’t. I was thinking she might be keeping a low profile, especially with all the ruckus we’ve kicked up recently. But I have a terrible feeling. Something’s not right.”

Barton’s face softened a moment. “Yeah, that seems odd. Or maybe you just need some rest?” 

“No, it feels wrong. It feels like…” But Steve wasn’t able to finish his sentence when one of the King’s personal assistants tapped on the glass. The men stopped talking while Barton opened the door. 

“Pardon the interruption. Captain, King T’Challa requests yours and Mr. Barton’s presence.” They nodded, and all three walked in silence until they were in the King’s conference room. The aide motioned to two chairs, and they sat, joining Scott, and Sam at the table. Wanda was still in recovery in the medical ward. 

“Shit,” Barton muttered under his breath. Steve looked at him suddenly.

Barton continued. “Why can’t we just have a moment to, oh I don’t know, regroup, before the next catastrophe hits?”

Scott and Sam nodded in agreement. Steve looked at the King and tried to decipher his expression. 

“Gentlemen. Thank you for joining me, but I am afraid this is not a happy occasion.” Steve breathed in through his nose but remained silent. The King continued, “We have received some disturbing news from our contacts in the United States. It would seem that the son of ranking diplomat from Djibouti was poisoned and died while on America soil.”

The men all looked at one another; Sam pushed himself to sit up a little straighter in his chair. 

“And it happened at Avenger’s Tower.” Steve’s heart stopped. Liv. She was at Avenger’s Tower. She was working there.

“When?” Was all the Captain could ask.

The King looked at him. “The night of the Maria Stark Board Dinner.”

Steve stood up, knocking his chair back. He needed to talk to Liv. The King rose as well, hand outstretched towards Steve. “Please Captain. Take a seat. There is more.” 

Steve sat down slowly, his thoughts racing. He thought Liv was safe. He thought he’d left her in the safest place in the world.  
T’Challa picked up a small remote from the table and dimmed the lights. A glass panel behind him turned into a screen. News stories played as they took in what the reporters were describing. 

“And it appears the act was carried out by unknown HYDRA operatives, hidden within Stark Industries. The investigation into the mysterious death has only just begun as Tony Stark and Pepper Potts have vowed to help in any way possible.” The videos playing were muted as the King started to speak again. 

“Captain, it has come to our attention that your girlfriend might not have been honest with everyone.” Steve could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He tried to regulate his heart rate, but he could feel it racing. 

“What do you mean, your highness?” He asked tentatively.

The King pressed on the remote once more. Documents filled the screen. After a few moments, Scott spoke up. “Wait, Liv’s HYDRA?” He looked between the glass and Steve, noticing the change in the Captain’s demeanor. His face went from fright to confusion, and then finally to defeat.

“That… that’s not true. That can’t be true. Olive’s not HYDRA. She’s a chef. She’s… she’s… “ Steve’s voice trailed off as he gripped the arms of his chair. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. “Tony… I need to talk to Tony. He vetted Liv. He would never have hired someone that was HYDRA. I need, I need Romanoff.” He was gasping for air, grimacing, trying to sort out the information he’d just received. 

T’Challa spoke. “There is but a little more information, Captain.” He pushed the remote again, and a few pictures of others appeared. One, Steve and the rest of the Avengers recognized. 

“The night of the dinner, after the incident, Liv and her Sous Chef, Georgia, disappeared. There has been no trace of them since the evening when they left the building. We did find information concerning the rest of Georgia’s family.” Steve stared at the man, his expression not changing. Sam and the others couldn’t take their eyes off of the information splashed across the wall. 

“Georgia Wuster’s family has had ties to HYDRA since World War II. We believe her to be related to a man known only as Malcolm, who runs several communication outposts around the world. He was tracked to Macon, Georgia earlier this year.” Steve blanched. Liv had gone down before him. He met up with her later. No. No, no, no. He stared at the table in front of him.

“I need to call Tony,” Steve murmured.


	22. In Some Sad Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opening the lid of the record player, his eyes glazed over at the sight before him. Of course, it had to be that record. The needle had to be on that song. He turned the machine on, hoping he didn’t regret it, but knowing full well he would.

Steve stood in the apartment at the compound, not moving a muscle. He took in everything that was theirs. The excessive number of cookbooks filled bookcases. Shelves were full of pictures; some from Camp Lehigh, others of Peggy, a few of the Howling Commandoes, and even a picture of Liv at camp as a kid. The case of WWII books he’d burned through housed even more titles they’d added.

On one wall hung a photo mosaic from their trip to Macon; them standing on top of the Great Burial Mound at the Ocmulgee National Monument, one of him sitting at a table full of food at H&H, another with the Redding/Andrews Family at the Otis Redding Museum Gala. His favorite photo was the selfie of the two of them standing on the steps of the Bibb County Courthouse, with him kissing her cheek as her smile made her eyes almost close. 

Looking at another shelf, he saw the record player. It was something Liv already had when they met. They’d play all sorts of music, and she’d try to teach him how to slow dance and even a basic waltz step. More times than not, he’d wind up stepping on her toes. She’d taken to standing on his boots just to keep her feet safe. 

One evening, they swayed together for an entire record and only released when it was time to flip sides on the player. There were few words spoken, small kisses, her listening to his heart with her head on his chest, him rubbing his thumb on her back, and him holding her as close as he could, drinking in her smell like an elixir that was keeping him alive. 

Opening the lid of the record player, his eyes glazed over at the sight before him. Of course, it had to be that record. The needle had to be on that song. He turned the machine on, hoping he didn’t regret it, but knowing full well he would. 

As the sound of strings started playing, tears began to run down his cheeks, trailing beside his nose, over his lips, and onto the floor, his shirt, his shoes. He put his hand on the wall to balance himself. Slowly he sank to the floor.

For once, he cried… and cried… and sobbed. 

Over 70 years ago, he’d cried like this. It was because he watched his best friend die and he could do nothing to stop it.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“What are you listening to?” Steve asked for the fifth time in as many minutes, waving his hand in front of Liv’s face. He’d noticed her breathing was deeper like she was having to think about taking each breath. Sitting on the couch, she hadn’t made a movement in a while, deep in thought. 

Blinking, she turned towards him, and he saw the tears in her eyes. “I think, I think I’ve found the saddest song ever.” 

Placing his hand over hers, he pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. “Is this about your mom?” He whispered into her hair, leaving a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. “Yeah… listen.” Unwinding from his grasp, she plugged a bud into his ear and played the song for him. He sat impossibly still, hands settling on his knees. Once it finished, he stared at the floor. Liquid filled the rim of his eyes, but he didn’t cry. It brought the Bucky mission forefront in his mind. 

He had that incredible tightness in his chest that reminded him of the asthma attacks he suffered from as a child. The band of pain made him want to pull in on himself and curl up into a ball, but he didn’t move. Liv wound her hand around his and just sat with him while the song played on repeat a few more times. 

“Do you think I’ll ever find him? Do you think he’ll ever remember?” He asked, only a whisper, blinking back tears he couldn’t find in himself to release. 

Liv raised her eyes to Steve’s, feeling every bit as emotional as he did, albeit for other reasons. She’d been so caught up in her sneak attack grief session; she had not given thought as to what he’d pull from the song. 

Right now, she wasn’t even sure she could answer him. “I… I don’t know, Steve.” 

And she didn’t. 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Never had he seen something like this coming. From the moment he met Liv until the moment he saw the video of her running, he’d not thought this was the path their lives would take. She’d been more than he’d ever thought he could have. At times she was more than he deserved. He felt a coldness he hadn’t felt since he went into the ice.

This time he felt truly broken, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be put back together again. 

This time he cried because his heart shattered into thousands of small shards and each one was stabbing him in the chest.


	23. I Already Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is your guess, Chef?”
> 
> “My guess is somewhere in the upper Northern Hemisphere.” She answered. “Siberia?”
> 
> “Close. We are on an island in the Arctic Ocean. So you see, there really is nowhere to go. You’ll die out there, just like you’ll die in here. Once you’re no longer useful to us, that is. Don’t move that timeline up on yourself.”
> 
>  
> 
> \-------------------------------------

Liv woke to sounds she didn’t recognize. Suddenly, a guard pushed her door open and ordered her on her feet in broken English as he unlocked her chains. Practically dragging her up the stairs, she barely managed to keep up with his brisk pace. Once he looked back with a smile on his face, and she got scared. They passed through the kitchen and walked into a room with tables pushed together. She was attached to a u-shaped bracket along the wall and instructed to wait. 

More noises and exclamations echoed down the hallway. It sounded like something heavy was being dragged along the cement and concrete floor. Liv's eyes opened in horror as two guards backed into the room, pulling along a massive white fluffy body. They struggled to get the huge creature through the doorway, and other guards helped them get the carcass onto the table tops. Two trash cans and several plastic tubs were brought in behind them. 

Malcolm leisurely strolled in last and looked at Liv. “My my, Chef. Bet you’ve never prepared Polar Bear before, have you?” 

Her gaze was still on the white fur of the bear. They wanted her to break down an entire polar bear. Where in the hell were they? And how did they get this? What in the actual fuck was going on?

She didn’t voice those questions. But for the first time in days, maybe weeks, something in her brain engaged. 

“I’m gonna need a bigger knife.” 

———————————————————————————————————————

Many hours later, Liv had "caped" the bear, handing over the skin to two guards who appeared to be the ones who hunted down the creature. She removed the parts that she didn’t want to think about, and bled the bear out. Gingerly, she broke down the entire animal, dividing up muscles and offals into different plastic totes. One tote contained most of the subcutaneous fat that Polar Bears build up. Some areas were 4 inches thick. Liv knew this could be valuable as one of the things she tended not to have a steady supply of was fat or oils. 

Malcolm strolled into the room with the ease of an agent Liv noted, an assassin even. She waited for his comments as she started separating a joint on the beast with a saw. They would never leave her alone. She had too many tools, or in another light, weapons, in this room, at her disposal. 

“Chef,” Malcolm started, “now, how did you know about processing an entire polar bear? I’m willing to bet they didn’t teach that in culinary school.” 

She merely looked at him over the table. “No, they did not. I just followed what the bones told me to do.” It was the most she’d spoken since he’d informed her of her new status as a HYDRA agent. Her voice sounded foreign to her ears. “Mammals are mostly alike.” He hummed in slight approval and stood back to watch her work for a few moments before another guard came in to take his post. 

Malcolm left without a word, and Liv continued her work. She was having a hard time figuring out just how many pounds this bear weighed. The amount of food to come off of such a large animal meant the chef would have to be creative so as not to waste any of it. Mentally she started going over all of the processes she would need to go through an entire bear. Grinding some of the meat would help. Turning parts into roasts and such would make storage easy as well. The sheer amount of stock she could make from the bones alone made her brain hurt. 

Taking a step back, she looked at the half-processed carcass on the table. Her eyes glanced over to one tote that had the organs in it. Depending on how fast she could get the animal broken down, she should be able to use the intestines to make sausages. 

The next thought that crossed her mind hit her like a ton of bricks. When the guard noticed her change, he snapped his figures at her. Several sentences in what Olive determined to be German coursed out into the silent room. She tilted her head at him and walked over to the tote with the intestines. She only understood him asking her what she was doing.

“Ich kann Wurst machen?” God, she hoped her minuscule knowledge of the Deutsch language didn’t fail her at that moment. 

“Würste?” The guard replied.

“Ya, würste. Ich liebe würste.” She said, not smiling but not frowning. The guard slowly nodded his head and settled back into his seat as Liv put the intestines and the liver together in one tote, leaving the other parts in the original container. 

An electric spark streaked through her spine. She was gonna get out of here. This was her out. 

——————————————————————————————————————————

It took her the better part of two days to complete the breakdown of the Polar Bear along with cooking all of the usual meals. The odd sensation of having something to do as well as something to plan made her work faster, harder. 

“It seems the bear has lit a fire under you. I do like to watch you work hard. I knew you would be an asset to us, once you accepted your fate.” Malcolm said as casually as one might suggest sushi for dinner. Liv merely glanced at him from where she was separating the layers of intestines in the sinks. “Thank you for the grinder. I like making sausages.” She said. 

Olive knew she had to play her part. She needed more time to make her plan work. Each night she was beaten, and each night she would cry out in agony. Then, the scenes from her happier former life would bounce across her brain pan. Sleep would meet her with thoughts of kissing her husband. His lips would be soft and slightly wet. Steve always bit his bottom lip right before he kissed her. The idea of seeing him again made her spine straighten, warmth crawling its way down her arms and spreading to her bound hands.

It registered that she might not make it out of this situation alive. Intuitively she knew it was a long shot, the longest of long shots. But it was her only chance. Once she was out of the outpost, she didn’t know what would meet her. If she asked just the right questions, she might be able to find out more, but she was sure it would only cause her more suffering. 

That night, her guard was Georgia’s brother. He and Malcolm were the only two who would speak to her in English. Two of the guards spoke Deutsch, and everyone spoke Russian. Everyone, except Liv. 

He never told her anything of importance. He would ask her questions about Georgia. Liv got the idea that had he not been HYDRA, he might have been a decent man. He cared about his sister, that was apparent. 

But that night was different. He started telling her the story of how the Avengers split. It would seem to be his mission to make her heart break over and over again during this visit. 

“The Winter Soldier was created to destroy. He will never not tear things down, whether it’s people or countries. And now, his destruction is pointed to his best friend.” He continued, telling Liv of the news stories about Steve Rogers falling from grace. She hadn’t known about the fighting in Germany with Stark. Her guard didn’t have any more recent information, but she didn’t want to know anything else. 

Gathering her wits, she asked, “Why are you doing this?”

He looked at her confused. She continued, “I’m obviously not getting out of here alive. I can’t know what drove you to this?” The slap across her face stung like hell. Luckily he only hit once.  
“You’re correct. You won’t get out of here alive.” And he paused. “I’m here because The Winter Soldier destroyed my family.” 

Boy, that was not what she was expecting to hear at that moment. Continuing, “James Buchanan Barnes dated my grandmother before the war. He led her on, and she thought that he would propose to her. Then he left. Not a word to her after he was drafted. No letters, no declarations of anything. Nothing. He’d used her, she found out later, as he’d used so many women.”

Olive looked at the man. It seemed a bit steep to say that heartbreak over 80 years ago would destroy a family. 

“Don’t look at me that way. That’s not all he did to my family. Twenty years later, my grandmother was a HYDRA agent, hiding in plain sight. Sure, she’d married and had children of her own, but she was still an important operative. 

After my grandfather’s death, she was dispatched to Soviet Russia. Before her mission, she visited the Red Room to meet with a former colleague, and eager to reconnect with her previous love. Even with the knowledge that he was now The Asset, she was confident he would recognize her.” He stopped talking for a moment. “But it seemed he still had little care for her. Something about her triggered him. She didn’t make it out alive.”

“Shit,” Liv whispered. 

The guard just nodded his head. “My mother never really recuperated from losing her mother. She was committed to many institutions until her death in the 90s. Malcolm raised my sister and me.”  
If Liv were honest with herself, it was a lot to comprehend. And, unfortunately, she could see the “why” in their actions. When her mother passed, had it been a murder, she would’ve torn the entire world apart. 

Nodding at the guard, she said nothing. 

“He took everything we had when he took her from us. Now, we shall take everything he holds dear, including his best friend.” And with that, he stood up and stalked out of her cell. 

—————————————————————————————————————————

For the next few days, she behaved as she always had, cooking and crying and recuperating from whatever punishments they handed down. Liv realized she hadn’t seen herself in a mirror since her capture. Now and then she could see a blurred reflection of herself in a sink full of water or across the silver door of the walk-in. It seemed as if her face was a constant collection of bruises. 

The only thing different was how much Georgia’s brother was talking to her now. Once she had the nerve to ask where they were since they hunted Polar Bear and she’d had to clean more than enough Arctic char and haddock. He didn’t answer her question, only stating that he was glad he didn’t have to go out into the wild with the hunting parties. 

It was Malcolm who told her where they were. “What is your guess, Chef?”

“My guess is somewhere in the upper Northern Hemisphere.” She answered. “Siberia?”

“Close. We are on an island in the Arctic Ocean. So you see, there really is nowhere to go. You’ll die out there, just like you’ll die in here. Once you’re no longer useful to us, that is. Don’t move that timeline up on yourself.”

She nodded in understanding. Liv had just moved her own timeline up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original title for this chapter in my WIP folder is "Polar Bears are gonna be the death of me". I really hope no one looks at my search history any time soon because, whoa with the oddities. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this.


	24. I Should Not Ask You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Only Pepper would be able to get herself, Tony, and Natasha in a room together. After everything that had happened, everything they were still sorting out, all of the harsh words they’d thrown at each other, here they were, together. "

Only Pepper would be able to get herself, Tony, and Natasha in a room together. After everything that had happened, everything they were still sorting out, all of the harsh words they’d thrown at each other, here they were, together. Each had a folder with all of the current information known about Liv, Georgia, and what had happened the evening of the Dinner at the Tower. One screen directed their attention to the far side of the room.

“It just doesn’t make sense. What is HYDRA trying to do?” It was Natasha who spoke up. “I mean, I get it, they wanted to destroy us, but we did a damn fine job of doing that ourselves. Why would an outside force think Captain America’s girlfriend would do that better?” She looked between the former couple.

Tony added in, “I have techs combing through all of her online communication. They’re picking out the red flags now. Maybe we can piece something together before Steve gets here. I would rather us know what we’re dealing with before his emotions come into play. Oh, and by the way, they're engaged. So, it may be more intense than you were thinking, Nat.”

The red head looked at Pepper and nodded. The threesome shuffled papers, made notations on maps, and Tony tapped away on a StarkPad. Stark Industries’ PR department was working night and day to spin the events that recently were dominating the news cycles.

Looking up from her folder, Pepper asked.“What do we know for sure?”

“Well, we know the son of Hamid Awaleh, a Diplomat from Djibouti, died on my property at a Board Dinner for our charitable foundation. We know Liv and Georgia tie into that. We know that death almost severed our company’s relationship with an import shipping port. We also know that Djibouti neighbors Wakanda. And we know that Steve mentioned a man named Malcolm, who is Georgia’s uncle.” Tony spouted at length.

Pepper sighed. “And what are we using as our basis to look further into this? Because right now, with the information we have, all fingers point toward Olive Sullivan being an Agent of HYDRA along with Georgia Wuster.”

“You mean, Olive Rogers.”

No one heard Steve walk in the room, but his low baritone made them all turn around to look at the man. The Captain America they knew seemed to be only a fraction of his former self.

“She was… she is my wife.” His lips pressed together into a thin line. No tears at the moment, but his eyes still bore the slight red shade in the corners.

“Hey, buddy. How are you holding up?” Tony asked. Natasha stood up and walked over to Steve.

“Hey. We’re here.” She almost whispered to him. “We’ve got you.” She reached up to his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around her, and she patted the back of his head.

Pepper stood and gave him a slight side-hug next. “Steve, we will get to the bottom of this.” He shook his head and sat down across from Tony.

“I guess I’m okay. Seems like we can never be happy though, doesn’t it?” Steve directed towards Tony, who nodded at him but remained oddly silent. “I guess I fucked up more than I thought possible.”

No one spoke for a few moments. It was Steve who reached for papers and started pouring over the information in front of them. Forty-five minutes or maybe an hour had passed before anyone spoke again.

“I just wanted a family. I wanted to make someone happy. I just wanted… her.” Steve said suddenly, tossing his folder onto the table, scattering papers full of words and charts. “I didn’t get the chance with Peggy. But Liv, she was, she was everything.” He stopped for breath, placing both hands flat on the table top, and visibly swallowing down either a cry or a shout, but no one in the room knew which. “She was everything, including HYDRA.”

“Steve, we don’t know that 100% right now. And I will pull every one of these threads until we get it all straightened out.” Natasha told him, and everyone in the room at that point, matter of factly.

“So, married, huh?” Tony asked. Steve shook his head in confirmation.

“Yeah, when we were in Macon. Her dad was there. And the Justice of the Peace. But that was it.” Steve had gone to great lengths to keep their marriage under wraps. “Has anyone talked to her father about this yet?” He asked suddenly. How Coach had slipped his mind, he wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t something that made him proud.

Natasha, picking up her phone, started texting someone quickly. She put her phone back on the table, face down after a moment, as Tony looked at Pepper before he spoke.

“Steve, how will we know if Liv is innocent? How will we know it’s not a gimmick? If, and these are colossal “ifs,” but if we find her, given she’s still alive if she’s not HYDRA, how do we know, well, her truth?” Tony’s words hit Steve like a ton of bricks. Would they find her? Is she still alive? Is she HYDRA or is she his wife? Wait, no, she’s still his wife, but is she HYDRA or is she innocent?

Steve paused, “Let’s start at the beginning.” Nat’s phone buzzed, and she excused herself, taking the call. Steve tracked her movement then returned to the papers in front of him. What would be something she could tell him that would make him believe her? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he would ever know.

Natasha walked back to her chair. “That was a colleague that was traveling from Savannah to Atlanta. They made a stop in Macon. Liv’s dad is missing. There’s nothing left at his last known address, Steve. Nothing. The house is empty.”

Steve didn’t know how to take that bit of information. “But, he’d lived there since 1970. At least that’s what he said, and from the looks of it, it seemed to be true.” He paused, “Did they say anything else?”

“His neighbor mentioned seeing a large truck parked on the side street two days in a row, but that wasn’t unusual because another’s son is an over-the-road truck driver. He thought it was him. But it very well could’ve been Mr. Sullivan.” Nat replied, reading over her texts as she relayed the information.

“Is your contact still in town?”

“Yeah, they’re heading to the genealogy department at the, um, lemme see… the Washington Library, to see what else they can find.”

Steve nodded his head.

Tony spoke up. “Altered pasts, relatives disappearing… why?”

“Nat, tell your contact to look up anything they can find about Malcolm Wuster while they’re there.” She nodded at Steve and continued typing. “Pepper, care to go over the details of the dinner with me? More heads and all of that…”

She nodded in agreement.

“We’d had several planning meetings on the event. Liv took copious notes, as usual. She seemed distracted the day of, but I thought it was because of, well,” She paused and motioned between Tony and Steve, “you two.” The men looked at each other with what one could consider remorse.

“Right before the event, I passed the information along that James Barnes was in custody but that everyone was safe. I saw her turn her phone off and she walked towards the kitchen. That was the last time had contact with her.” Pepper took a breath, retelling the story again for what felt like the one millionth time.

“The event started as normal, with a cocktail hour and appetizers. Guest made their way into the private formal dining room when the attendants opened the doors. Servers took care of us for the beginning courses. Suddenly the diplomat’s son, Amir, started coughing violently. It was between the second and third dishes. We all thought he choked on his food, but when a server did the Heimlich maneuver, nothing happened. He kept grabbing his throat, and he lips turned blue. Before the medics had time to get up the stairs from the hospital wing, he’d stopped breathing altogether.” She continued. “They packed him off to the medical wing, and after they’d tried getting his airway opened, the tower’s chief medical officer pronounced him dead. I was still shocked at what happened, but I made my way back into the dining room to try to piece together what happened. Police officers were arriving so I walked back to the kitchens in time to see the workers scrambling around, not knowing what to do. It all went down quick, and I didn’t even think to look for Georgia. The police were marking off areas and collecting evidence, and I waited for someone from the Counsel’s office to show up. I looked for Chef. FRIDAY couldn't locate Liv or Georgia in the tower. I noticed Bentley, who looked like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown AND petrified of the officer who was trying to question him.”

—————————————————————————————————————————

“Breathe, Bentley. Breathe.” Pepper Potts directed the man sitting in the waiting room of the trauma bay of the medical wing. He put his head on his forearms and tried to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was havoc and mayhem. Guards running, people screaming, and Bentley didn’t even know what had happened. A police officer sat beside him. Pepper was standing close.

The officer looked like they were about to ask a question to Bentley when she spoke up.

“Bentley, don’t say a word until Legal shows up. Do not utter one word to anyone about what happened tonight without a lawyer present. Understand?”

Bentley nodded his head. Did that mean he was a suspect? Of course, he was. He was Liv’s left-hand man, right after Georgia, and now, Liv was missing.

Georgia. Where was Georgia? He hadn’t seen her since the incident. He furrowed his brow and concentrated on breathing. Bentley looked back at Pepper.

“Will you stay with me until they get here?” He asked timidly. Pepper nodded and sat beside him, pulling her phone out to delegate to the rest of her staff on how to handle the incident.

One of her PAs rushed up to her at that moment and hurriedly whispered in her ear. She was typing furiously on her phone before they were both watching a news feed. It was mostly cell phone footage and some CCTV coverage.  
Bentley wasn’t sure what he saw over Pepper’s shoulder.

“Is that? Is that a Giant Antman?” He asked shocked.

“I’m not sure what all it is,” Pepper whispered in a tone that suggested she was telling the truth.  
—————————————————————————————————————————

Everyone was still looking at Pepper around the conference room table as she relayed all of the events of that dinner to them. They were just waiting at this point. Take out was brought in and they all had attempted to eat, but everyone seemed too distracted to pay attention to food.

Tony was the one who piped up again. “So, a food allergy killed Mr. Awaleh’s son?”

“Yes. Allergic reaction. He was allergic to peanuts.” Natasha confirmed, looking up from one folder. “But not tree nuts.” Tony turned to look at the shorter redhead and cocked his head to the side. He then turned his gaze towards Steve.

“Allergic reaction. To peanuts” He stated to no one in particular, but Steve shrugged his shoulders as Nat pushed the Medical Examiner’s statement and reports towards him. Moments after reading it, he looked at Pepper. “Do we have the notes Chef took during the planning sessions?” Pepper shook her head.

“There weren’t peanuts in any of the dishes, but that wasn’t something we discussed. Chef was in touch with the envoy from Djibouti that advised SI about dietary needs. After I had signed off on my portion of the menu, I didn’t have anything else to do with the food. We have her laptop, but her notes from the last planning meeting weren’t on it.” They all jumped at the tapping on the door from one of Pepper’s assistants. She stood and walked into the hall, speaking in hushed tones.

Tony turned to the other two. “If Liv is HYDRA, then it makes sense. It’s an easy way to off someone and have it look like an accident. Except, that isn’t what happened because she disappeared. If she isn’t HYDRA, it’ll be hard to prove she didn’t do it on purpose. We would have to show that she either A) Didn’t know about his allergy or B) She did and was taking every precaution she could to keep any allergens from cross-contaminating the food. And I'm not sure if we could prove that.” He paused, tapping something on his phone. “The timing of everything still feels wrong. It feels… Rushed. What are we missing?”

No one spoke. Of course Tony couldn’t get comfortable with the silence. Looking at Rogers, he directed his next question at the superhero. “Do you think they wanted y’all to spawn? Were they waiting for you two to procreate but then something happened to make them change their timeline?” Steve shook his head at him, but the engineer continued. “Like, you finding Bucky?”

“I don’t know about the timeline, but no, we didn’t want kids. Liv couldn’t have children.” He replied quietly. “Nat, didn’t you mention that being something they did to all the Widows?”

Natasha looked at both men. “Unless they were going for a very particular outcome, yes, they sterilized every female operative.” Then she added, “Most males too.”

“Bet that was an awkward conversation,” Tony added.

“Well, one does have questions when your girlfriend has six small inch-long scars littering her abdomen and doesn’t need birth control,” Steve added nonchalantly. Nat looked at him funny. “What?” He asked. “I suggested it, but she said she couldn’t have kids.”

“Uh huh.” Tony replied, but Natasha interrupted him, “Tell me about her scars.”

“She had six scars on her abdomen,” He leaned back to demonstrate where each of her scars were on his own body. “Five on the part of her torso between her belly button and her bust and one below. Why? What’s so important about her scars?”

“Steve, you’ve seen my abdomen. Besides the GSW from James, I don’t have any scars. Bikinis and all that… “ She paused, and Steve furrowed his brow. “There are a lot of female operatives in HYDRA. Hysterectomies for each one would be inefficient, to say the least. They couldn’t have every woman be unable to work for four to six weeks, then not be able to do their jobs fully for months after that.” The energy in the room was turning agitated as if they’d just burned down the haystack to find the needle.

“They sterilize women by inserting devices that cause scar tissue to grow in the fallopian tubes. It is relatively painless, and patients can go back to work within days.”

Steve places a piece of paper on the table. “This says she started her training in HYDRA at 17.”

Natasha looked at him. “That’s later that most. They would’ve sterilized her immediately.”

Pepper walked back into the room, followed by Darcy. “We found something.”


	25. Where Did You Come From

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Guess I’ve lived long enough to see myself become the villain.”

Liv was glad they gave her little to eat. She really was. Hours of figuring out her next move, then cleaning the intestines of the beast, and making breakfast sausages out of the liver and casings gave her time to get the second half of the plan in order. It also let her see if her hard work was paying off. 

And they were. The men all started showing different symptoms of the poisoning. Dinner that evening was something that equally excited and utterly terrified her. 

“What smells so good, chef?” Malcolm huffed her way at as he entered the kitchen. The other guard left and Malcolm replaced him on the stool. 

“Decided to cook a southern delicacy. Fried livers and onions… maybe some potatoes and carrots.” Her voice was raw, but he heard her answer.

“Haven’t had liver and onions since Macon.” Liv’s breath caught, and memories of her previous life flooded through her brain. “Oh yes, I was there. Hope your’s are half as good as those I got at the Bear’s Den.” Malcolm finished. She struggled to regain her self-control and continued working on the meal. He watched as Liv battered and fried up strips of the polar bear liver. She placed each piece, once golden brown, onto a sheet tray with a rack to drain. Soon enough, after the guard delivered the meal to the dining room for the men, she cleaned the kitchen, was then given a hunk of bread and some water to drink before being shackled and shuffled back into her cell. 

Her act was paying off. In the week since they brought in the bear, each man ate at least one meal a day with the liver in it. She also managed to add a fair amount of the fish they caught into their diets as well. The change in the rotation of the guards caught her attention about three days prior. The men spending time in her cell at night dwindled until it was just three; Georgia’s brother was one of them, and she noticed a marked difference in him. 

“Looks like some type of virus is getting passed around.” He mentioned to her after slapping her hard for staring at him too long. But she couldn’t help herself. The side of his neck was peeling, and the corners of his mouth looked cracked. Granted, all of this could happen because of where they were, but they were also signs of her plan working. 

Quietly she posed her question. “Virus. What type of virus? Am I gonna catch it?” She hoped she looked more scared than normal. It wouldn’t be a hard sell. She’d been scared since the day she woke up in the cell. He raised his shoulders. 

“I don’t know what it is. Stomach flu or something. Several guys are having… issues. You know, going to the bathroom more than normal.” He looked uneasy talking about it. Sure, beating in a woman’s face was no problem but discussing the toilet habits of co-workers made him squeamish. Liv needed him to keep telling her about the others to gauge how her plan was working. And it looks like it’s working. 

“Tell them to make sure they wash their hands. They’re probably spreading Norovirus around. Poor personal hygiene lends to it in tight, confined quarters.” She offered. He looked at her puzzled and asked, “What?”

He shook his head at her. “How would you know that?”  
“Had to study sanitation practices in culinary school. Norovirus is one of the most common causes of stomach flu.” Liv answered absentmindedly as she tried to get comfortable in her cell. She was starting to close her eyes when he left but sleep barely came to her, and she was woken much too soon the next morning. 

For three more days, nothing different happened, other than all of the men experiencing some sickness. She was lucky because they all presented different symptoms. That’s the funny thing about Hypervitaminosis A., each person responds differently to it. Combining that with mild arsenic poisoning from the fish she was given to prepare, and she felt like a Bond villain. Except, she wasn’t a villain at all. She just wanted to live. Knowing she never could hug her father again hurt deep in her core. It was as HYDRA severed the main thread of her existence and she was free-falling through life. 

She couldn’t tell you why she felt such a drive to live. Not now. Now that she had nothing to live for. Malcolm let it slip that you could see the Northern Lights outside one day, so she thought she might try to see them. She would try to escape, somehow. But she wasn’t banking on getting home. Georgia’s brother made sure she knew that she was a wanted criminal back home. 

“I’m surprised you just gave up.” He mentioned the night before. “Georgia painted you as such a fighter. She almost adored you, looked up to you.” Liv leveled an unemotional stare at him. “Everyone has a breaking point. She knew me for five years. Y’all figured it out.”

“Y’all? Now, that’s just precious. I haven’t heard your accent at all until now.” He joked at her. When his mouth turned up, she could see where he’d lost a tooth. That was new. His lips continued to crack, and his dry skin was peeling further up his throat. She thought his hair was thinning as well. Had he lost weight? He had. She knew she didn’t have much more time to finalize her plan. He left her cell, and for once she slept straight through the night. 

The guard who retrieved her in the morning was looking slimmer as well. His shirt was starting to hang loosely around his middle. This time, he didn’t push or pull on her chains, and Liv swore she heard him stumble over the threshold of the kitchen. He attached her to her bar and took a seat on the stool. 

“Do you want some water?” She asked him. He nodded, and she filled a plastic cup for him. It was a nothing movement, but it meant everything to her. She needed to know what was happening but not seem too interested. Christ, how did actors do this, she wondered to herself. 

“Still recuperating from the stomach flu?” She asked as she heated up some more sausage and started cooking the eggs for breakfast. He nodded his head as he drained the cup. “It can really take it outta ya. Try to stay hydrated, and you should feel in no time.” He grimaced at her but said nothing. 

Another guard took the food to the dining area, and Liv realized she’d only seen the two same guards save for Georgia’s brother in the last 48 hours. “Took y’all down quick? How many did it get?” She hoped she sounded normal. He was one of the few who spoke English, and it wasn’t the first time she’d asked questions. This time, he answered with his mouth instead of his fist or his foot. 

He grumbled, standing up to fill his glass again. “It hit us all, differently… I was the least affected. Several of the guys are still shitting their brains out.” So. There it was. He was standing by her at the silver prep table, and he’d committed the first mistake in hostage protocol. Never let your guard down. 

He never saw her move, and in his condition, he couldn’t fight against her chains wrapped around his neck. As he lost consciousness, the weight of his body pulled Liv forward. She pulled him into the walk-in, searched his pockets retrieving the keys to her cuffs, and left him there. 

Quietly she walked back into the kitchen, keys secure in her bra. When the only other guard not on bedrest from her poisoning stopped in to advise her about lunch, he looked for the other guard. 

“Bathroom.” She answered and made a disgusted face at him. He nodded in acknowledgment. “Well, I’ll be back shortly to pick up the food.” 

He looked horrible. “I’ll make soup. How does hearty soup sound?” She suggested. The guard nodded, turning to leave but put a hand on one of the walls to steady himself. 

“Dizzy?” She asked. He nodded. “You should go rest until lunch.” She offered. He nodded and started blinking heavily. She watched as he made his way out of the kitchen on unsure feet. 

—————————————————————————————————————————

She wasn’t a spy. Liv was not a HYDRA or a SHIELD agent. But she was a Kenpoist, and they were taught to fight in a phone booth. The moment the guard brought the food tray back from the lunch of poisoned broth, she easily overtook him. He’d helped her along when he dropped the tray beside her, leaning over to pick it up. She repeated the punch she’d dealt to the creeper in the bar on Christmas Eve. It was enough to knock him out cold. It also broke his jaw, but she didn’t much care about that as she pulled his body beside the other guard in the walk-in. 

By all accounts, there were eight guards plus Malcolm. Two were dying slow deaths in the walk-in. Six were trying to rest in their bunks, according to her source. Time was getting away from her, and if the camera in the hallway had someone monitoring it, she’d need to work fast. 

Quickly, she unlocked her cuffs and pocketed the paring knife, replacing the keys in her bra. She made her way down the halls and towards the guards' wing. Had they been two to a room, she would’ve had a more difficult time, but one on one, she was stronger. The first two she killed by smothering them with pillows while they slept. Each man barely moved and made next to no noise. She said a little prayer for that the generators that helped run the facility were pretty loud, covering her actions. Ever aware of the cameras she made her way through each cell. 

One guard lunged at her as she shut the door to his room, but he missed and fell as he tried to recover. She kicked him in the side before crushing his throat. Immediately she threw up in the trash can beside his cot. 

Looking over the fifth dead man’s body, she mumbled to herself. “Guess I’ve lived long enough to see myself become the villain.” 

The sixth guard’s death was the most gruesome. He was only in his boxers and looked like a rabid animal. She pulled the knife from her pocket as she fought him. He blinked harshly, showing signs of double vision. He still managed to trap her arm to her side but he didn’t see the knife. She jabbed it into his crotch, making him release her. Turning around, she elbowed him in the jaw, knocking him out. Backing up against the door, she watched as the pool of blood slowly grew around his dying form. Slipping out of his room, she locked it from the outside and fled to the last two cells. 

One room was Malcolm’s. The larger bed and nicer accommodations spelled higher-up-on-the-food-chain. But no one was home. And not in the other room either. She spotted a photo of Georgia on the tiny table in the corner; this was the quarters of her brother. Liv didn’t know where either man's location but she knew better than to spend too much time in one place. 

She fled the wing and explored the few other halls. Not much was there beside a shit ton of communication equipment and various storage rooms. Keeping an outpost in the middle of nowhere was not easy, by the looks of it. 

Flickering lights poured out of a room at the end of a small offshoot hallway. Sliding down the wall, Liv peeked through the door. It looked like a cockpit surrounded by screens and stacks of servers. To one side was a computer monitor. She stepped inside quietly. 

“What are you gonna do now, sweet pea?” The voice asked her. She spun around in time for Georgia’s brother to push her into the room and shut the door. Stomping on his foot, she shoved away from him. He grabbed her again and covered her mouth with his hand. 

“Shut up!” He whispered harshly in her ear. “Before you get us both killed.” He’d pulled her away from the sight of the small window in the door and slammed her into the wall. “Stay fucking quiet, and I’ll help you.” Footfalls could be heard coming down the hallway. She nodded and flattened her back against the wall. He quickly sat in the chair and placed a headset over his ears, typing commands into the computer. 

Liv saw the lighting change through the window as he turned his head slightly, then adjusted his torso towards it. He made eye contact with whoever was there, tapped the headset, then nodded. The shadow of Malcolm left the window, and his footfalls started to get harder to hear before Georgia’s brother turned his attention back to her. 

She whispered her question, “Why didn’t you kill me?” He swallowed hard. 

“Because my uncle just killed my sister.” Liv felt sick for the umpteenth time in the last few hours. “Well, he didn’t do it, but he put the order out, and the kill was just confirmed.” Sliding down the wall, she put her head in her hands. Would this nightmare ever end? 

“What do we do?” She asked. 

“I don’t know.” He answered as he looked over the monitors. She could see his eyes moving over the screens of the different cameras, brows drawing together. “Are they all… did you… what happened?” 

“I killed them.” Reaching beside the desk, she threw up in yet another trashcan. He turned to her. “Why didn’t you kill me?” He asked. 

“I was about to.” She answered. 

“But, you’re not a killer. Or, at least you weren’t.” 

“I found my out. I won’t survive this. Even if I do, there’s nothing for me out, there. But I found an out and I’m taking it. No matter where it leads.” She breathed. “I’d rather die at the hand’s of my husband that as a prisoner of HYDRA.” 

“What was your out?” He asked. She shook her head ‘no’ at him. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.” He acknowledged her statement. “I understand. You don’t trust me. Hell, I don’t even trust me.” They looked at one another, searching for something. 

He broke the silence first. “There’s a satellite phone in my foot locker. It’s personal and not on HYDRA’s network.” She blinked. Could she get back there without Malcolm finding her?

Squatting down in front of her, he put his hand over her hands, gently. “I’m so sorry, for everything, for my part in this.” Liv could see so much of her former friend in his eyes at that moment. She couldn’t pull the tears back. One escaped and ran down her cheek. 

“Are you going to help me?” She asked him, once more.

He stood back up and sat back in the chair. “If I can.” He turned to the screen with the camera feeds. “Do you know which room is mine?” She nodded. “Ok, Malcolm is out in the shed. Go… now.” He helped her up. “Get the phone, call for help. Then, lock yourself in my room. GO!”

It happened so fast; she was running down the hall with the guard's rooms before she realized it. Opening his foot locker, she found the bulky phone. She hadn’t shut the door when she heard shots fired from where she’d just left. Like the non-spy that she was, she crept back up the hallway. 

Heavy footsteps made their way towards her, and she broke into a run for the kitchen. She could hide there and have some knives for weapons. Liv stopped when she got to the kitchen and was out of breath as she got the phone turned on and the number dialed. The strange beeps of the phone let her know the call was going connecting. 

“Hello?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Liv will get out... but in what shape, I don't know. 
> 
> If you're enjoying this, just found this, or can't wait to see what happens next, please, comment. It helps spur me onward. Some of this darkness is tough to write through!


	26. And Neither Should You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thought you’d save yourself, did you, princess?”

She felt the sudden snatch from her hands. Liv screamed as she turned to see Malcolm drop the phone before crushing it with his foot. He grabbed her by the throat, cutting off her breath. His other hand managed to cuff her again as she started to black out. An elbow connected with his jaw but it was a weak attempt. He pushed her against the table before rearing back and delivered what was the hardest slap to her face to date.

“Thought you’d save yourself, did you, princess?”

Liv’s ear was fucking ringing again. She could barely stand up. “What were you going to do? Kill me and escape back to your dream life of cooking for the stars and fucking the national icon? Did you forget that you don’t have anything or anyone to go back to?” His words bit into her soul.

No, she had not forgotten. He and his team of hound dog guards made sure of that. Looking at him with no discernible expression on her face, she answered. “No.”

“I knew I would break you.” He stated. “You could come in handy, my dear if you survive the training.” She blinked. Training? Training for what?

“Was this a test?” She asked. He tilted his head to the side.

“No. THIS was not a test. But you managed to take down an entire team of well-trained guards. It would be a waste to lose you.” He was standing just close enough that when she head butted him, his nose started to bleed immediately. “You fucking bitch!” He snarled as he stalked over to the sink, blood pouring down his face. She thought he was going to wash his face off.

“You’re never leaving here now, do you hear me?” And he held up the key to the handcuff from her bra. He dropped it into the hole in the sink and flipped on the disposal. The metal grinding noise almost drowned out all the other sounds in the kitchen. Almost.

“NOOOOOOO!” Liv shouted at him. Her vision turned red as she felt a rage she’d yet to know take over her every movement. For a split second, Malcolm looked terrified of her. She threw herself at him, just in time for the blade in her hand to meet his abdomen. He screamed into her ear as Liv forced it as far in as she could. He pushed her back, and she hit the table again before losing her footing. Stumbling away from her, both pairs of eyes focused in on his torso.

Liv’s paring knife stuck straight out of his lower abdomen, a circle of blood steadily growing on his shirt. She raised herself back to her full height as he pressed his hands to his torso. Without further thinking, she kicked him, her foot striking the knife handle. Malcolm wailed in pain as he fell onto the floor. Running her chains down the bar, she started kicking him further until he managed to inch across the ground away from her. Stomping down, she was sure she heard his ankle break.

“Surprise, Motherfucker.” Liv spat at him. His eyes were wide open and flitting between his stab wound and her body. “You ruined my life. You took EVERYTHING from me.” She was panting for breath. “And now, I will destroy you.”

He wasn’t moving, and neither was Liv. “What? No pithy statements? No hateful comments? No last words?”  
Malcolm looked back down at the knife and slowly started to pull it out of his abdomen. It fell to the floor beside him with a light *clink*, and he let his head hit the tiles. She wasn’t about to tell him that he just shortened his life.

Christ, she just hoped the blade connected with the mesenteric artery or it was going to be a long night of watching this sick bastard die in front of her. But judging from his rapidly declining state and the sheer amount of blood now seeping into his shirt and down his side, she guessed he had an hour left. He was turning very pale. She remembered he’d been eating the same food the others had and that gave her hope.

Suddenly, he turned his face towards her, his tongue moving around in his mouth until a tooth fell free. He chomped down on it and swallowed.

“hail…. HYDRA… “ he whispered as foam trickled down his cheek, turning pink as it mixed with the blood from his nose.

Malcolm died in front of her. His eyes no longer tracked her movement; his chest no longer rose with each breath. She looked at the blood stain and saw that it was no longer gaining size.

Then she broke. Hoisting herself up onto the silver prep table, she sobbed. She’d made it. She’d freed herself; only she was still stuck in this godforsaken kitchen. Hours passed, or maybe only minutes, moments. Her brain felt scrambled. She alternated between checking Malcolm to see if he’d moved or if he would blink. He was far enough away that she couldn’t physically touch him or move him, which meant she was hanging out with a corpse.

Exhaustion took over at some point, and Liv laid on her back on the table, throwing her non-cuffed arm over her eyes, blocking out the fluorescent lights of the kitchen. And then she slept.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blinking away the disorientation of waking up on a table, Liv realized she had no idea what time it was. Opening the walk-in, she snatched a watch off of one of the other deceased guards. 5:46a.m. The growling in her stomach brought her thoughts back to getting out of the base. First, food. Second, figuring out her next move.

The smell of bacon made her smile a little to herself. She ate four pieces and some toast. It was tempting to devour the entire pound, but she’d puked enough over the last two days. One of the compartments of the big sink became her toilet for the time being. It was not a pleasant setup, even if it was better than the bucket in her cell.

Further searching of the guards produced a small spiral notepad and a pencil. That evening she wrote out an entire outline of what happened to her. Well, she wrote what she could remember.

She stared at Malcolm’s body for a moment. His corpse and the others in the cooler weighed heavily on her brain. She started writing down all of that as well. What happened to her while she was there, the things she did. Ideas she had. Then, she decided to write a letter to Steve. Deep down she knew she wouldn’t be able to prove her innocence. There was no turning back the events that landed her where she was. But she needed to tell him every last thought she’d had of him while she was there.

 

To the Love of My Life - Captain Steven Grant Rogers,

Where do I begin? All of this has all been traumatic for me, and I imagine it has for you as well, if for entirely different reasons. I still don’t know what happened to me or how I got to wherever it is that I am now. I’m not sure I’ll ever know. I know I won’t ever get you or my father or my life back. But I’m hoping against hope that this letter will find you one day.  
And when it does, what I want you to know is that I’ve loved you every minute since I met you. I’ve loved everything about our lives together. The thought of your smile was a light in the darkest of nights here. Laying on the floor of my cell, I would pretend I could hear your heartbeat, ever steady, as you slept beside me. Songs we shared would skitter through my brain during the day, making me think of you.  
I fought back. I hate to tell you this next part because I don’t want your perception of me to change from what and who I was. But you deserve to know. I hope you’re at least a little bit proud of me and not too disappointed.  
I killed the team of guards assigned to keep me here. I came up with a plan, waited, then all of the dominos fell into place. I’m pretty sure my brain is gonna be fucked up permanently from it, but hey, I’m alive. What I don’t like being is a killer, and I’m so sorry that’s what they made me. I’m so, so, sorry.  
They wanted to destroy you, using me. I wouldn't let them. Don’t you let them. They destroyed us. They destroyed my life. They almost destroyed me. Don’t you dare let them take you too.  
You are too good for this world, my sweet husband. Too good. Stay that way. Stay true to yourself, even when it feels like it will be the end of you. I will love you forever.

Love,  
Olive Rogers

 

Tears poured down her face. She was alone, but HYDRA would figure out something was amiss if they hadn’t already. She was tired and hungry. To survive more than she already had, she’d need to recuperate. She ate as much as she could stomach and tried to sleep over the next few hours.

Then, it was time to get a move on. Stuffing the notepad into her pocket, Liv took inventory of the food that was left over. There was a decent sized backpack in one of the guard's rooms. Hopefully, she could find a change of clothes that fit and some shoes. Cold weather gear would also be a priority. If she could get into the control room, the computer there would help her figure out where the hell she was. What about weapons? Could she find anything to protect herself if HYDRA sent more agents to the outpost? And where were the guard's guns? She’d seen them on each man earlier but neither guy in the cooler nor did Malcolm have one when she killed them.

Killed. Them. Liv was a killer, now.

Overwhelmed, she put her head on her arms. None of this was important if she didn’t get out of the cuffs. Working the underwire out of one of her bra cups, she attempted to pick the lock but failed. The wire was too thick to fit into the cuff keyhole.

Everything on her body was hurting, from the abuse and from sleeping on a metal table. Her face was still bruised, and her lip had split the last time Malcolm slapped her. Looking at his corpse helped steel her resolve.

Standing on top of the table, she studied the bar her cuffs attached to across the ceiling. Looking over the kitchen, she spotted the knife she stabbed Malcolm with. Slowly she sat down, then pulling the chains as far as she could, she stretched her body and was able to reach the knife with her toes but just barely. It was incredibly painful, but she had to get free. Retrieving the knife, she got back up on the table. Unlocking the cover of the screws holding the bar to the ceiling, she placed the tip of the knife into the cross slots and turned. It took several tries but slowly the one screw released.

The second screw followed suit, as did the third and the fourth. Falling from the ceiling, one side of the bar lowered, and she was able to slip the chains off. The noise is deafening as they crashed onto the metal tabletop. It startled her. Then she was pissed she hadn’t thought of doing that sooner. Gathering her chains up, she scrambled off of the table top.

One hour. She gave herself sixty minuted to get clean then pack enough food and clothes for two weeks.

The hot water hurt the random open wounds across her body as much as it helped her sore muscles. It had been almost a month since she’d had anything more than a spit bath from the sink in the kitchen. The superficial side of her was grateful for the all of the bathing supplies she found. Washing her hair over and over again, she laughed for a second. It was a manic noise that sounded foreign to her own ears.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

Wasting precious escape time was dumb, washing her hair, shaving her pits, scrubbing her body again and again. But each time she rinsed off, she didn’t feel clean. So, she soaped up and scrubbed some more. The fourth time, when her skin started to feel raw in places, she stopped, realizing it was all in her head. Placing the wash rag on the knob, she lathered up her head once more, letting the tears find their way back down the familiar path of her face.

Everything, every emotion, every feeling came crashing down on her at once. And she sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo buddy... writing this was something else. The kudos & comment helped spur me on. Here's to writing the next chapter.


	27. Honey, Just Put Your...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Making a left turn, he smelled something out of place. Slowly creeping further into the complex, he heard a sob that made his breath catch in his throat. Raising his shield, he stopped outside the double doors. His heart stopped."

“They’re all dead, Cap.” Nat’s voice echoed through the comms in his ear. He was staring at a dead man in a room full of computer monitors. “I’ve got one dead here as well.”

Tony’s voice joined in. “I’m not seeing much from up here besides the Northern Lights. Fuck it’s cold.”

Steve left the control room and met up with Nat at the T-intersection of the hallway. “I’ll go check what’s up here,” She informed him, walking in the direction of the kitchens. He turned and continued on down the hallway, twisting and turning to protect himself from whatever lay ahead.

Making a left turn, he smelled something out of place. Slowly creeping further into the complex, he heard a sob that made his breath catch in his throat. Raising his shield, he stopped outside the double doors. His heart stopped. Then, it started back, pounding in his ears.

“Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry  
You don't know how lovely you are  
I had to find you  
Tell you I need you  
Tell you I set you apart  
Tell me your secrets  
And ask me your questions  
Oh, let's go back to the start.”

Steve couldn’t see anything for the steam that poured out of the door as he opened it. He didn’t know what he was walking into. Silently the man closed the door behind himself, scanning the locker room for her. He could hear water running as he followed the softly-broken singing around the corner. Steve recognized the song, and he recognized the voice, soft and broken.

“Running in circles  
Coming up tails  
Heads on a science apart  
Nobody said it was easy  
It's such a shame for us to part  
Nobody said it was easy  
No one ever said it would be this hard…”

He heard her voice break on the end of the last word. “Oh, take me back to the start…” This time, the sob she let out stunned him in his tracks.

Plumes of steam continued to swirl around him, and he could feel the moisture collecting on his face. A figure was sitting in the corner, out of the spray, legs tucked beneath them with arms hanging loosely on their knees. He could barely make out features, but chains were hanging off of one wrist trailed into the center of the room, laying above the drain.

“Cap, I found something in the kitchen you might want to see.” Nat broke his concentration.  
He didn’t reply. “Rogers, did you hear me?”

“I - I found her,” He tried. “I found her,” Steve stated again, voice stronger. “Nat get down here.”

Olive moved, raising her head. “No. No. Please. No. Please no more. No.” She whimpered as she pushed back into the corner further, arms covering her face.

“Liv?” He asked, choking on his own words. The closer he stepped, the more bruises he could see lining up and down her arms and legs. He dropped to his knees in front of her, shield crashing to the floor beside him making her cry out. “Nooo. Please, God. No.”

“Olive?” Steve whispered. Her entire body was shaking with sobs as she turned her face towards him. “Oh God.”

“Steve?” Her voice broke on his name. She raised one hand to touch his face, and he heard the chains scrape against the floor. “Steve?”

His body was also shaking. “Are you real?” Olive asked in awe.

Nudging his face into her palm and covering it with his glove-covered fingers, he closed his eyes. “Yes. I’m real. I’m real.” When he opened his eyes, they were full of tears. He had to fight the urge to gather her into his arms and carry her to the safety of the jet.

“Aren’t you a bit short for a Storm Trooper?” Liv wiped her nose on her other arm, and she tried to smile at him, causing the split on her lip to open again. He coughed a small laugh before he moved closer to her, pulling the chains away from her body. “I’m not that short.” He replied, thumbing her short wet hair away from her forehead and over her temple.

Bruises and cuts lay the map of Liv’s face. Her lips swollen and purple, the reopened split looked garish against her pale skin. The bags under her right eye bled into a yellowing bruise. He noticed her jaw chattering lightly. The vibrations along her body belied her state as she was shaking, despite the room being hot.

As Liv moved her head, Steve caught the marks on her neck. He could make out individual fingers. Similar marks spread across her arms. He had to fight the urge to find whoever did this and make them pay. But the most important task was figuring out if she was okay, then what had happened to her.

Her gray eyes were searching his, and he could hear her heartbeat speed up. “I didn’t think you’d ever come for me.” The words broke his heart. But she continued. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Reaching forward, he wrapped his arms around her frame. His stomach turned when he realized how much smaller she was in his arms. Where she’d once be a solid figure, all curves, and muscles, he could now feel the bones of her spine, her ribs rising to the surface of her skin.

“What did they do to you?” He whispered over her ear when rubbed his hand down her back. She grimaced slightly at his touch. “Sorry, still sore.” She said through her silent crying.

“Can you stand up?” He asked. Liv nodded. Yeah, she could stand up. Before Steve moved back, he asked. “Can I kiss you?”

All she could do was nod her head at him. “Liv, I need to hear the word.”

“Yes.”

Touching his lips lightly to hers, he let his own tears run down his face. She was there. She was alive. He had her.

 

“Cap. Captain. STEVE.” Tony yelled through the comms in Steve’s ear.

Placing his finger on the piece, he answered. “What?”

“Did you hear Romanoff? She found Malcolm.”

Steve growled into the comm. “Save him for me. He’s mine.”

“Not really an option, Rogers. Looks like someone beat you to it.” Nat replied.

“Natasha, I need your help here,” Steve said as he helped Liv stand up. He noticed the towel she had wrapped around her torso. “On my way,” Nat said in his ear.

“Is it ok if I remove this?” Steve asked motioning to the piece of terrycloth. “I need to look at your injuries.” He pressed his lips together. She nodded, and he loosened the one tail of fabric tucked into the seam against her chest. Peeling it off, Steve stood before her, his nostrils flaring as he tried to catch his breath.

It was almost easier to count the areas without bruises or cuts or scraps. The back side of his wife's body was as bad as the front, and Steve wasn’t sure he could be in the room with Liv any longer.

Stalking over to the wall, he put his fist through one of the lockers, releasing a yell that made Liv put her hands over her ears. They’d destroyed everything good he’d had. Bucky, Liv, his team… everything.

“Steve?” Liv’s broken voice shattered his thoughts. Turning his head, he noticed her quivering lips. He exhaled, and his shoulders slumped, eyes moving to the floor.

“Steve. I’m still here. I’m alive, and you’re alive and… and….” Liv’s voice broke into desperate pleas. “And I just want you to hold me. Cause they didn’t get me.” Steve reacted so fast, and Liv barely saw him move. But she felt his strong arms lift her gently as he picked her up in a bridal carry, moving over to sit on one of the benches in the locker room.

Rocking her weakened form, cradling her body against his, he chanted to them both, “I got you. It’s ok. It’ll be ok. I found you. It’s ok. It’ll be ok. We’re ok. I love you.”

 

——————————————————————————————————

 

“Steve,” Natasha said softly as she materialized out of the steam. Steve turned his head towards her, as she made her way towards Liv. “Olive.” At her name, Liv raised her head from Steve’s shoulder. She had a small smile for the assassin.

“Hey.”

“Hey you,” Natasha nodded, kneeling to her level, running her hand over Liv’s shoulder. “Why don’t we get you some clothes.” She told Olive, pulling the towel back around her bruised body. Liv nodded and winced when the Widow helped her stand up.

“Sorry, I think I broke a rib.” She muttered. “But I can walk on my own.” Nat left her hand lightly on Liv’s back as she walked towards a pile of clothing on a bench in front of a far set of lockers.

Liv looked at Natasha as she released her towel and leaned down to pull the pair of pants she’d found up. “Did you find the kitchens?” She asked in her broken voice.

Nat nodded. “I did. Was that you?”

Liv looked at Steve. “Yeah. I did that. Did you check the walk-in?”

“Not yet. Should we go back?”

Liv let a shaky breath escape through her nose. “There are two more in there.” She watched as Steve’s chest raised and lowered with each deep breath he was taking.

“It’s ok. I’ll do a final sweep. You two should get on the jet.” The assassin told the chef. Liv stopped her in her tracks.

“No.”

Natasha looked towards Steve as Liv looked between them both. “I wanna see that they’re still dead.”

Nat nodded as Liv pulled the shirt gingerly down over her torso, her bloody bra a contrast to her bruised, pale skin. The Russian watched Steve as he turned his head away, a tear threatening to spill down his cheek. Her heart broke for the two people standing in front of her.

The trio made their way through hallways until Liv pulled up sharply and turned away from the path leading to the kitchens. It was a short corridor, tucked away from everything else in the compound and it smelled strongly of mold and something worse. These were cells, prison cells, Steve noticed when Liv tensed up nearing one particular door. He and Nat hung back as Liv walked up to the small barred window at the top of the door and stood on her tiptoes to see into the dimly lit space. When she rocked back down, she turned to the other two and motioned them forward.

“This is where they kept me.” Steve and Natasha looked into what had been her cell. “You need to see this.” Both noticed every horrible detail of her confinement. “Ok, now to the kitchens.”

Olive was aware that walking back through the compound was not the best use of time, but she knew herself well enough to know she would need closure. Liv understood that, if they ever made it back to her former life, she would need it confirmed that every man that played a part in her torture was well and truly dead.

The threesome walked into the kitchen, and Steve looked over the scene. He scanned the body on the floor, Natasha squatting down to take a pulse. Liv didn’t leave the entrance, but her eyes were firmly on the door to the walk-in cooler. Steve opened it and took in the two guards on the floor. He checked each for a pulse but confirmed to her that they were both dead and had been for some while before walking back out and shutting the door. Liv nodded and turned, walking towards the guard’s quarters. She didn’t see Natasha pick up the spiral notepad from the table and hand it to Steve after reading the first passage. Liv also did not see Steve tuck it into his pocket.

The two Avengers caught up to the chef quickly, and they helped verify that each guard no longer drew breath. Once she’d finished with the guards, she made one final stop… the control room. Steve stood close behind Liv as Natasha inserted a USB stick into a port and downloaded whatever information she could get her hands on. Liv didn’t care what the other two were doing. A corpse sat in the office chair, a bullet hole between his eyes, a tiny rivulet of blood having trailed down his face.

When her breathing turned shallow, Steve lightly placed his hands on her shoulders, letting her know he was there. Her shaking voice broke the air. “He was Georgia’s brother.” Liv swallowed hard. “Malcolm was their uncle. Malcolm killed them both. Malcolm killed himself.”

Natasha removed the drive and turned to them both. “We need to go.” Liv nodded in agreement and Steve followed the two women out.

The moment Liv stepped into the frigid conditions outside the base, she looked directly up. Swirls of neon green and vibrant purple filled the sky above her head. Stopping in her tracks, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.

“I’m free.” She whispered to no one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm almost finished with this work. Hope everyone is still enjoying it.
> 
> Thoughts? Questions? Comments? You know I live for those things...


	28. Sweet Lips on My Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the flight back to the Avenger’s facility, Liv slept in increments, small as they were, holding on to her sanity by a mere thread and not letting Steve leave her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the last official chapter of So Many Eggs. I will be posting an Epilogue at some point. I really wanna thank everyone for coming on this journey with me, especially with this being the first thing I've ever written.

On the flight back to the Avenger’s facility, Liv slept in increments, small as they were, holding on to her sanity by a mere thread and not letting Steve leave her side. He stayed with her through the flight, and into the medical ward. It was night again and the skeleton staff on call gave them a wide berth. 

Everyone handled Liv with kid gloves and soft touches. The intake physician knew Liv and Steve both from several missions where The First Avenger needed more than a few stitches to put him back together again. 

In a small network of people they could trust, Tony, Pepper, Natasha, and Steve all felt comfortable leaving Liv in the care of very few people and this doctor was one of those few. Two broken ribs, a fractured cheekbone, a bruised kidney, slight hearing loss in one ear, dehydration, and a mild concussion. Liv’s laundry list of pains was comparatively short to the amount of abuse she’d suffered at HYDRA’s hands. But that was all of the physical injuries. These would heal with treatment and time. 

Steve kept a bedside vigil and no one questioned him. Natasha drifted in and out, giving Steve breaks to shower and talk to the doctors. Liv slept, thanks to several pain medications she was on. Two days passed before she fully woke and looked to her side. The slight snoring she heard was coming from Steve, whose head was propped up again the wall of her hospital room. She watched him for moments, making sure he was real and that they were there together. Dozing back off, she smiled to herself. 

Weeks turned into months. Liv was released from the ward but agreed to followup visits along with intense treatment for all of the psychological issues that were sure to plague her and Steve. Tony, Pepper, and Natasha, along with other members of the Avenger’s had reconciled with Steve. What happened between them all, she couldn’t be sure of, but on more than one occasion, different members joined her in sessions. 

Two months passed in a flurry of activity. The Accords were ratified, General Ross was finding himself out of favor of the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, and the Avengers were picking up the pieces from the fallout. Thor was adamant about some stones he felt were going to bring death and destruction to the universe and that had Steve concerned. Bucky was still in cryostasis in Wakanda with T’Challa, but Steve seemed content to let the King’s Science and Technical division work on his friend while he cared for his wife. 

Darcy kept Liv company during multiple breakdowns during the day and Steve wrapped himself around her as if he could protect her from the memories of the trauma in the evenings and early mornings. The more time passed, the less intense her nightmares became until she began sleeping for longer than four-hour intervals. Curves returned to her body as she was slowly healing but she didn’t go back to work. 

With all of the drama and trauma that was occurring, Tony decided to source out the food service to a corporation. They weren’t having many private parties or dinners at this point in the craziness.

“Do you miss it?” Darcy asked over the breakfast bar she was perched at, watching as Liv minced garlic cloves within an inch of their small fragrant lives. 

Liv wiped the pulverized plant off of the blade of her knife and into a pot that was sweating onions. “Miss what?” she asked.

“Cooking for more than just you and Steve? Do you miss the hustle and flow of the kitchens?” Darcy asked before taking a swig of her coffee.

Liv had to stop for a moment. Looking at Darcy, she placed her knife down and picked up a wooden spoon. She made a motion to stir the vegetables in the pot but didn’t answer. Darcy didn’t pry. Moments passed and as she sat the spoon on the rest, she turned to face her friend.

“I don’t miss it. Not yet. But I will.” She smiled.

Jane’s assistant offered up a fist for a bump. “There she is.” In what felt like an eternity, Liv smiled large enough that her cheeks hurt a bit. 

“Here I am,” she answered, bumping her small fist against her friends. “And if I don’t get this chili going, we’ll have nothing to eat for dinner. You wanna send out that text?” She turned to add peppers to the onions, followed shortly by a spice mixture. 

“Hell yeah, I wanna be the one to send that text!” Darcy replied, happily tapping away on her phone along with wiggling on her stool. The browning spices released their pungent aromas into the shared space and made it feel just a bit more like home. Darcy asked FRIDAY to fire up her “Dance like nobody is watching” playlist and the music had both women bouncing around as they made the rest of the dinner. 

The following few hours passed as if they were in the past. It was as if the entire team had stepped back to before all Hell had broken loose. Liv’s smile never left her face. 

——————————————————————————————————

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, and questions are greatly appreciated.


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